Visions of Peace
by Elessar
Summary: FF6: Devastated by the Imperial Civil War, a leaderless, divided Empire only hastens the encroaching shadows of another Dark Age. Our heroes fight to ensure peace for all peoples of the world, but can even they halt the inevitable ruin of civilization?
1. The Floating Continent

**Preface  
**  
_Visions of Peace_ is an epic telling of an alternative universe FFVI, one that diverges during the events of the Floating Continent. As a massive rewrite of the ending, it ignores all events in the World of Ruin and rather strives to continue the tale from the World of Balance:

The Empire is left headless and the world irreversibly scarred from the misbalanced Statues. The Imperial Civil War begins and our heroes continue to fight to restore peace in the world against all odds.

**Disclaimer**

This is purely a work of fiction and the author does not claim ownership of any of Squaresoft's intellectual property.  
**  
Author Notes**

This author is not presumptuous enough to believe that this tale could ever replace the World of Ruin. However, he wishes to deal our heroes with continual setbacks and betrayals, and most importantly, see these heroes achieve the impossible. It is an attempt to continue the style in which the World of Balance was written. As such, this author apologizes ahead of time for liberties taken, _especially _in regards to character death.

And finally, all I hope is that you enjoy _Visions of Peace_.

---

**_Visions of Peace_**

"What lies behind you and what lies in front of you, pales in comparison to what lies inside of you."  
_- Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882)  
_  
**The First Chapter - The Floating Continent **

Locke snapped awake, the sudden euphoria of sight and sound overwhelming his tired mind. His ears were ringing, and he could feel the dried blood caked against his cheeks. He could feel the pain in his side; something blunt was digging into it. The rocky crevice he had fallen into was not his first choice for rest. He tore off his blue headband and wiped his face.

"Locke!"

To the self-styled treasure hunter, the world suddenly focused. It was a common side-effect of the phoenix downs. The loud droning background sounds clarified into the screams of his friends. The blurred grey splotches before him turned into the skull-like rock formations that plagued the Floating Continent.

The Floating...

Locke shot to his feet while ignoring the sudden pain in his side. He clutched at Ifrit, the former esper hanging off a thin silver chain around his neck. The magicite had grown dark. Locke could still feel the headache brought on by his sudden reliance on magic. He had totally forgotten about the battle.

"Locke! Get Terra now!"

Edgar Figaro's order told Locke exactly how long he had been out. No less than a minute. The young king was too busy aiming his crossbow to cast Locke a look, but his voice was as commanding as ever.

Locke scanned the scene, looking for Terra. Their defensive line was a mess. The attempt to defend one of the few outcroppings of rock that the airship could reach was disintegrating into a pitched battle for their lives. Celes' men were all good soldiers. They were men of honor, fighting for the belief that their General had never betrayed the ideals of the Empire. They fought back with a tenacity that rivaled the monsters that massed on the Floating Island. However, they were few, and the Emperor's Imperial Guard was far better equipped than any of them.

But Locke cared little for the defense of the port. His heart skipped a beat when he saw her prone body, lying on the field far to the north.

The young thief charged across the battlefield blindly. An arrow or two grazed him, but he didn't feel a thing as he reached Terra's side. The green haired half-esper lay on her back. She was not visibly injured to Locke's relief, but she was not moving either. He pulled a phoenix down from his pocket, but could already tell that Terra would not be woken by the battlefield medicine.

Locke carefully moved Terra into a less compromising position. Her head lay lifelessly against his knees. Her eyes were open but unseeing.

Something had happened with the Statues. Locke had seen Terra act like this when she was first exposed to the esper Tritoch. Something was very wrong, and the Statues were at the bottom of the mess.

But the statues were even farther to the north. Terra had guided Setzer to the perfect landing spot: a large empty field large enough for their airship, the Blackjack, to land but miraculously close to the Statues. It was such a perfect spot that it had been occupied by the Emperor's personal airship and a contingent of soldiers. They secured the port, cut off the Imperial Guard and then kept to a simple plan: hold the soldiers back as best they could, while Terra, Celes, and Cyan took care of the statues. After all, Terra and Celes had far more experience with arcane magic than any of them could claim to. They were the only hope against whatever mad scheme Gestahl had planned.

"Terra... what happened?" Locke whispered.

---

Edgar swore as his hands grasped in vain for another cross bolt. He was out of ammunition at last; hundreds of bolts had been spent. First there had been the soldiers protecting the port, then came the monsters attracted by the airship's approach, and now the Emperor's most elite soldiers. He was almost relieved; the job of an archer had been more than strenuous. It was a constant adrenaline rush. Each bolt had to count; each reload was precious time that could leave someone dead. Being an archer was to be the protector of the men at the front. But at the same time though, the young king knew that it would only get more dangerous from here.

So be it.

His mythril spear shone in the midday sun as he made his way towards the front. Edgar knew what he looked like. The gleaming half plate on his chest and the great flowing blue cape behind him drew the attention of every single man of the Imperial Guard. Many had seen him before in Vector, the King of Figaro and a champion of the rebel cause. He was a pillar of light in the midst of Celes' loyal men, his long blond hair and tall stature a stark contrast to the brown armor and helmets that those soldiers wore.

Edgar had lead the assault by using the rocky inlets and passages of the Floating Continent like trenches, arrows and bolts flying from side to side as archers tried to pick one another off. The Imperials had been caught unawares; they were surprised that their own men, an organized task force at that, had attacked them from behind. Archers had killed the first charge across the unprotected plains, popping up from the trenches and striking with lethal precision. When the Imperials realized the extent of the attack, they began emulating the same with their archers while their foot soldiers charged in the maze-like trenches, looking for a protected way of reaching the traitors. There was a passage in plain sight of the south, and now that passage was a mass of soldiers hacking at each other. A second narrower passage had also been found to the east, but Sabin had closed it up personally and Edgar had repositioned some archers to oversee that area.

Edgar quickly scanned the battlefield. It was to the east that was the most hotly contested. The narrow passage made it impossible to swarm, and archers meant little due to the height of the walls and the location. Edgar ran down the maze to his brother's aid.

A blast of lightning ricocheted off his reflect spell. Edgar whispered a prayer of thanks to Carbunkl, the esper that was now safely stowed behind his half plate. He would never have thought of protecting himself in that manner, despite the troubling numbers of Imperial soldiers that had been infused with magic. But the esper had touched his mind and Edgar had reluctantly cast the spell.

With a great battle cry, Edgar charged into the fray, swinging his spear wildly and making his way towards his twin brother. Sabin was in the thick of the battle, a flurry of fists as the skillful martial artist made fools of the Empire's best soldiers. Edgar knew his brother was in no danger, but he could probably use the help. Sabin had positioned himself directly in the midst of the passage, at the narrowest point no less. Two men, one in silvery plate mail with a great broadsword, the other in green chain mail holding two twin swords, held their ground beside Sabin.

The two men were Captain Marcus Sandford and Lieutenant Michals Bethon. Marcus had ambushed them while they had been preparing Setzer's airship for an assault on the Floating Continent. As a former Imperial Special Forces leader, Marcus had tracked down his former commander, General Celes Chere, with intention to save her from the rebels. Upon learning the truth however, he and his men had defected. Their loyalty to Celes was astounding, and they were the only reason that the Emperor's guards had not torn them apart before they even landed on the continent.

Edgar tore apart the Empire's best eagerly. He ducked beneath the blades of his foes and didn't even miss a step as another blast of lightning hammered against his protective shield. Charging the Magitek Knight that had just attacked him, he took the man's arm off cleanly before decapitating him.

"King Edgar!" Captain Marcus shouted as he kicked his opponent aside. The poor soldier fell to the ground, his last thoughts clouded by fear as Marcus brought his broadsword down. "We can handle this!" the soldier shouted. "You should stay far outside of battle!"

Edgar pushed his latest opponent aside, stepping back far enough for an arrow to pierce the soldier's heart. Marcus' sharpshooters were still cocking arrows and giving them what support they could. "Marcus, we need to fall back. Your Magitek Armors can't defend this area, and we're running out of arrows back there!"

The scruffy soldier looked like he was about to speak when an earthquake shook them both to the ground. Edgar fell to his knees as the massive rumbling ravaged the entire island.

Carbunkl grew hot against his chest, the dead esper seeming to react to the earthquake.

Edgar stood up slowly, cautious because of Carbunkl's reaction. The four of them were alone. The Imperials had stopped attempting to rush the narrow passageway, allowing Sabin and Michals to easily demolish the few that had remained behind. Neither had been off-balance during the quake and easily gained the upper hand while their opponents fell.

"What was that?" Marcus asked, "And why are the Imperial Guards running away like this? That bunch of fanatics wouldn't turn tail even if-"

The second quake was not as surprising as the first, but Edgar looked around in horror as the passageway began to crumble. Carbunkl had warmed again, this time before the quake had even begun. It was as if the dead esper was reacting in pain to the earthquakes.

"I think we better head back," Michals said as they steadied themselves against the walls.

"I think you're right," Edgar replied. Never had the magicite heated up of their own accord. The shards of Espers actually became as cold as ice at times of usage. The heat against his chest worried Edgar.

---

Celes cursed under her breath as she got back to her feet. She brushed back her hair as she focused a blast of lightning at the retreating shape.

"Kefka!" she screamed in anger. She gave little thought in her rage, completely caught in the moment.

A dark shadow knocked her over even as she felt her back heat up rapidly. Her brilliant white cape smothered against the ground while she rolled to a stop. Celes looked up in surprise and relief, as Shadow stood protectively over her. Her blond hair was slightly charred; she knew that she had just barely survived a full power fire beam.

Behind her, the mighty Magitek armor planted its legs firmly against the ground, steam releasing from what seemed like ears. Its huge form, over three-men tall, loomed over them with deadly intent. The machine seemed almost alive, its arms stretching outward as the dark armor began to glow an unearthly yellow. Its head pointed into the air as it let loose a bone-chilling scream.

Celes barely saw Shadow's arms move. The ninja quickly launched three shuriken at the armor, the metal stars hardly scratching the great machine. Unfazed, Shadow jumped into the air as he threw yet another trio of stars.

Within the armor, the pilot drew his last breath.

The Magitek continued forward though, ignoring the death of its pilot. A beam of blue light shot from its right arm, and Celes dived out of the way as the ice beam tore its way through the maze-like passages of the floating island.

Suddenly, another quake shook the island to its very core. Celes was lucky, and saw the cracks in the ground open up. She jumped aside as the ground began to fall apart, grabbing a hold of a solid outcropping of rock. The Magitek armor was not so lucky, as the cracks had seemed to wind their way around the great machine. The ground beneath its huge legs gave way, and the armor teetered to the ground before falling right through.

A powerful hand grabbed the former General and pulled her up. Celes found herself staring into the face of Cyan, the old knight looking quite concerned over his female charge.

"Celes, art thou wounded?" he asked her.

Celes glanced back in the direction that Kefka had fled. "I need to finish him! We can't let him bide his time and make a second try for the statues."

Cyan shook his head. "The very land shakes in pain. This monstrosity will fly no longer, and we must take our leave now."

Celes narrowed her blue eyes. The young Magitek Knight glanced back at the horribly shifted Statues. The image of Gestahl falling off the edge of the island still haunted her, and she made up her mind in an instant.

"Cyan, we were lucky to catch Kefka unaware," she said as her hand smoothly made its way down to her waist. "If we abandon the Statues now, he'll try to get his hands on them again, and I will not let that happen twice."

"There is no time to-"

She didn't have the time to argue, and Cyan was as stubborn as Locke was irritating. Not pausing to wonder why she had compared Cyan to Locke, Celes freed her long sword quickly and rammed the handle deep into Cyan's side. The old knight was surprised and gasped as his breath was driven out of him.

And that was all the time Celes needed to whisper the words. Her hand shot out, throwing Cyan back on a blast of air.

Celes turned away from the sight of Cyan traveling hundreds of meters on a single blast of air. She would apologize to him if she survived. And if she didn't... her apology would be the dead body of Kefka.

"If you think you can catch me like that, you had better think again, General."

Celes was caught off guard by Shadow, who had abandoned the Statues and stood mere inches away from her. His dagger, a wickedly curved blade, was a hair away from her neck. He leaned close to her, a mere breath's away, his intention lethal.

"Shadow, I'm going after Kefka," she said with as much force as she could. Her eyes locked with the ninja's shrouded eyes, black globes that betrayed nothing of their owner. She swallowed, fighting against the rising fear inside her. A part of her wanted him to fight, to force her to return to her friends. The part of her that did not wish to die, the selfish portion that was appealing to her logical side. And despite the courage that had welled up within her. Despite the dead body of Gestahl that was a constant reminder of Kefka's treachery. Despite her memory of Leo, Yura and the Espers... despite all that... the fear was winning.

Celes did not want to die.

Shadow was silent for a moment. He seemed to be considering something, but then lowered his blade quickly. "Then we better hurry," he said.

The path back to her friends vanished.

Celes frowned. "I appreciate the help, but-"

"No one double-crosses me," Shadow said. The ninja turned away from her and jumped off the outcropping.

Celes replaced her blade and followed the ninja's path. Her doubts disappeared as she mused the turn of events. Shadow had already saved her life on plenty of counts, and it would have been foolhardy to go after Kefka alone. And... there was nothing to fear from death. After all, she had company on her journey to hell.

---

Edgar looked at the condition of the old knight. "Locke," he asked questioningly. "What happened here?"

Locke was annoyed by the question and his sudden change in roles. He was about to snap an angry remark when Cyan interrupted him.

"The statues-" the old knight gasped.

Edgar knelt to the ground to face Cyan. The former Doma Knight had been pulled out of from a landslide. So far, the only explanation offered had been that Cyan had flown like a bird, crashing through one their blockades with great force and knocking out one of the Emperor's commanding officers in the process.

How absurd.

"Where's Celes? Why did Terra appear out of nowhere near the port?" Edgar was growing evermore concerned. Carbunkl was warm to the touch, and that made him uncomfortable. "What happened with the Statues? Where's Kefka and the Emperor? What is going-"

"King Edgar, please."

Edgar moved aside as a soldier held up a small flask of bluish liquid. The soldier held it up to Cyan's mouth, urging the old knight to drink it.

"Celes is alone right now," Locke commented.

"Shadow is with her," Cyan said, his voice growing stronger. The soldier helped Cyan stand, steadying the dizzy knight.

"That mercenary?" Edgar snapped. "How?" he shook his head. "Never mind that, he's-"

"He was betrayed by Kefka," Cyan interrupted. "Helped us fight Gestahl," his black eyes locked with Edgar's. The former Doma Knight had decades of battlefield experience. Those many years gave his voice a commanding tone that silenced everyone else with sheer authority. "The statues were moved out of place, the balance Strago warned us about no longer exists. There is little time before this monstrosity falls apart."

Locke's eyes widened. "The statues-" he started.

"Where's Celes," Edgar snapped.

"The lady General chases Kefka." Cyan answered. "She forcibly sent me back here with her magic."

That treacherous Imperial witch, Edgar finished the rest of the sentence. He could see that Cyan barely caught a hold on his anger.

Locke shot to his feet. "We have to go after her!" he declared. "If the island is falling apart, then we can't leave her behind."

Edgar nodded. "This isn't the time for insane one-man heroics. I'll order Marcus to begin the retreat and carry Terra somewhere safe, we three will go after Celes," the King stood to his feet, one hand gripping his spear.

"The retreat is already well under way, King Edgar," Marcus announced. The three, in their emotional outburst, had forgotten the existence of Marcus and his aide standing right beside them. Marcus tapped his aide on the shoulder, and the well trained soldier ran back in the direction of the port.

"Marcus! Good," Edgar didn't have the time to be embarrassed. "If you would-"

Marcus held up a hand, cutting Edgar off. "Edgar, despite General Chere leaving you in charge of the defense, I will not let you order me around. My men have already begun the preparations to fly the Emperor's airship. Once we get that ship in the air, the Blackjack can dock and we can load the rest of the men." Marcus referred to the airship still in port. The Emperor had his airship landed close to the Statues while the Imperial Guard had landed further out. Because the Emperor had taken the only port close by, Setzer had dangerously hovered over the port while they jumped off. They had quickly captured the airship for their own and then proceeded to build the line of defense they had been holding for nearly an hour.

Unfortunately, Setzer could not dock. The Emperor's airship had to be searched for traps before she could be flown and the port cleared. That endeavor had taken quite a bit of time.

"Marcus, we're going after your General," Edgar said, his tone becoming ever-more irritated. They were wasting valuable time.

"You will not," Captain Marcus said with finality. "General Chere has given her final orders, retreat and safeguard your lives. Otherwise, she would not have bothered sending the Doma Knight back to us."

"Listen to me Marcus," Edgar threatened, "I will not-"

"No!" Marcus shouted. "This is not a discussion!" The Captain of an Imperial Special Forces Unit was obviously unused to discussion within the ranks. "While you have been mindlessly chatting away, you failed to notice the flags Michals has already put up!" His gloved hand pointed ahead.

Edgar gazed in the direction pointed. The color in his face drained as he saw the red flag flying; the monsters were back.

"Edgar!" Locke pointed in the direction where Terra once laid.

Edgar spun back around, watching in awe as a huge purple behemoth appeared out of the rocky plains. The ground had split open, and the giant monster floated up serenely, its blood red eyes staring in their direction. Its bulk enlarged the hole in the ground, rocks falling off the thick skin of the monster as the ground beneath tried to close.

The four men drew their weapons, realizing they could not allow such a dangerous monster to remain behind their defensive perimeter. The behemoth beasts were easily larger than even the Heavy Siege Magitek Armors. Nearly half the size of an airship, its huge horns and heavily muscled mass undermined the magical powers that lay within. The purple monster advanced on them, its four feet causing the ground to shake with every movement, on top of the trembling of the floating continent.

"Well, at least we know how Terra got back," Locke grumbled as they charged.

---

They returned to find the port in chaos. Wirey dragons hovered above and surrounded the airship. The small winged creatures gathered in numbers, grey wings blocking out the sky as they attempted to land and attack. Three of the Gigantos had made their way through the blockades. Those grey-skinned giants were the real problem. While the wirey dragons were easily handled by arrows, the thick skin of the giants made them almost impervious. Their sheer size and bulk was causing havoc as the monsters attempted to attack the Emperor's airship with massive clubs. Marcus' men tried to shoot the monsters down, but many were off-balance. The ground was shaking constantly now, and the truly skilled were engaging the giants in physical combat. Locke spied Gau fighting a Gigantos on his own; the young child easily maintained his balance in the face of a greater foe.

"They're attracted to the airship," Marcus grumbled.

"Locke, find Terra and make sure she can survive the jump. We'll wait for Setzer, Marcus, you should board-" Edgar commanded.

Marcus screamed a battle cry and charged at the nearest giant.

Edgar swore as he dived aside. A huge boulder, thrown by one of the giants, hammered past them. The King rolled to his feet, watching Cyan join the battle by Gau's side. Locke had already scrambled away. The thief was irritated and angry that they were not going after Celes, but the thought of Terra had quickly pushed the conflicting thoughts out of his mind.

Edgar pulled the camera out of his pack as he ran to the edge of the continent. It was disturbing to see the ground suddenly fall away into thin air, and Edgar was almost afraid that one of the smaller dragons would attack him. But the dragons remained concentrated around the airship, being blasted apart by the two Magitek armors.

The camera let loose a brilliant flash, powerful enough to shock anyone looking in its direction. Edgar hoped that Setzer would see the flash, and quickly set the camera to continue emitting light every few seconds.

The ground suddenly shook with renewed vigor, but Edgar had already known it was coming. Carbunkl warmed up before each tremble and allowed Edgar to balance himself.

He noticed he was not the only one that had realized the magicite could predict each of the earthquakes. Gau and Cyan each had let the sudden rumbling knock over the giants, and then pounced on the defenseless beasts.

But the last Gigantos had made its way through the few men that remained on the floating island. As per Marcus' orders, many had already boarded the Emperor's airship. The great giant roared, confident of his superiority while he stood on top of dead Imperial soldiers, and turned to next closest target:

Locke, carrying Terra on his back.

Even unburdened, Locke would never have escaped the grasp of the monster. It was no surprise that he lowered Terra swiftly and drew his knives. The dull black blades were deadly sharp but paled in comparison to the size of the threat he faced. Locke strode towards the beast without fear though: he had made a promise and it was time to fulfill it.

Their showdown was not to be, as a blur of dark metal stepped in front of Locke's path. It had moved faster than its size would suggest. The massive three-man tall Magitek Armor proved once again why the Imperial Army was the most deadly force in the world.

Magitek pilots were raised to defend their people from the monsters that constantly threatened their cities. This was no different; they were protecting civilians from harm. Though many Magitek pilots became obsessed with the power that they wielded, Marcus' men knew their limits. The Armor took a defensive stance. Its arms shot forward, the great claws piercing the Gigantos as the monster charged.

The giant screamed in pain. Blood pumped out of its chest wounds, but that did not stop it. The Gigantos dropped its great club and grabbed the machine by the shoulders. Muscles bulged and fresh blood spurted out as it tried to tear the arms off. The Magitek Armor fought back by cleaving its way through flesh and bone, steam being ejected from the sides as gears ground in effort. The All-Terrain Armor was the bread and butter of the Imperial war machine but despite bladed hands it was never meant to fight a monster in hand to hand combat.

The Armor was losing the battle, even though the giant was roaring from the pain of gaping wounds. The ground tore apart as the Magitek Armor's legs were pushed back against its will. Gears began to whine and groan as powerful engines strained to keep up to the demand that its pilot asked of it. But the pilot had already knew the result of such a melee and already planned ahead. From behind, a beam of fire ripped into the giant, the heat so intense that it seared the arm right off. The second Armor had repositioned itself at an angle, and immediately followed through with another controlled burst of blistering elemental magic.

Edgar made it back just in time to witness the giant collapse, the first Armor's claws still buried within its chest.

With a sudden roar, the airship began to rise. Propeller blades spun as the small ship rose into the air with its contingent of soldiers on it. Being so close to the airship, Edgar thought he was going to be blown off by the strong winds. With the ground shaking as well, the world seemed to be tearing apart.

The winds began to calm down as the airship gained altitude. Edgar turned back to what remained of the defensive line, wondering how many would be evacuated hastily on Setzer's airship. Marcus and Michals were still fighting beside Sabin, Gau and Cyan, and there were the two Magitek pilots remaining as well. But every other soldier had retreated on the Emperor's airship.

Which meant everything was now up to Setzer.

With the airship gone, the wirey dragons had flown off. And with another of the giants felled by Gau, the five warriors easily handled and slew the last Gigantos. The five men dashed back, knowing full well that the Floating Island was going to break apart at any instant.

"Edgar!" Locke screamed.

Edgar turned around to see Locke leading a dazed Terra. A look of relief touched his face. It looked like she had recovered, though her eyes seemed haunted and distant.

But the thief was not intending to draw attention to Terra. Instead, he was waving frantically in the air.

"Get down!" Locke screamed again.

After spending months fighting together, they had learned to simply trust each other's commands without pause. Edgar dived to the ground without a question, and just in time. A great dragon, one of the many they had seen the Imperial Air Force take apart, missed his head by inches. The speed of the green scaled monster carried it into the distance, wind and rocks following the wake of the giant beast.

The dragon turned back to Edgar, its eyes locked with the young king, as it landed on the shaky ground. Unlike its smaller wirey cousins, this one easily dwarfed even the behemoths in size. Built like a tank, green scales that were as strong as metal protected it. A mighty tail, as long as the body, waved menacingly in the air. Wings spread wide; the dragon opened its mouth and spewed forth a great column of fire. Edgar scrambled out of the way, feeling the flames lick at his back.

A beam of magic, blue this time, ripped into the dragon's right wing. The green scaled monster screamed in pain, its wings flapping despite the icy blaze that was freezing it to death. It turned to face the Magitek Armor, deadly breath meeting the controlled beam in gout of fire and ice. Elemental magic fused together in a lethal mix, fire and ice magic splattering on the ground like liquids. Yet the liquids reacted magically to the ground, the crust rupturing from the very contact.

As the Magitek Armor and dragon battled with magic, a green figure dashed towards the dragon unchallenged. Michals jumped onto the back of the dragon, his twin swords spread out for balance as the skilled soldier ran up the dragon like it was part of the ground. With practiced grace, the Lieutenant flipped over the dragon's head, landed and turned about. His twin swords tore into the dragon's vulnerable neck, red blood spraying as Michals sliced four times.

But even as the dragon began its death throes, Edgar could see that they were in far worse trouble than he had originally anticipated. He cursed loudly. Sabin and Marcus were attempting to handle one behemoth, while another of the accursed beasts charged towards them. This was simply becoming ridiculous; Edgar shook his head as despair took him. It was as if the monsters all were rushing towards them to--

Edgar scrambled to the top of a rock formation, a sudden feeling of dread washing over him. Pulling a pair of binoculars to his eyes, he looked back towards the Statues.

It walked towards them. As the continent continued to fall apart, earthquakes tearing entire sections of the ground away, the monster strolled towards them without a care in the world.

It looked like a grey dragon, but there were no wings. Instead, great golden spikes protected its back, and blue fiery hair danced on its head. The deadly glowing blue eyes were turned in their direction, for it knew that the men who had defeated it mere moments ago were still on the island.

Atma Weapon.

The wounds that they had dealt to the great beast could still be seen, even at this distance. But where once great rifts in flesh had been, blue flames burned brightly. It had stopped bleeding, even Atma Weapon would bleed when cut, and instead the flames closed the wounds while some sort of aura slowly regenerated the demonic flesh of the creature. That regeneration aura had nearly killed them when they first met Atma Weapon, moments after securing the Emperor's airship.

"Marcus, Sabin!" Edgar called out to those that were farthest away. Locke, Terra and Cyan had made their way as close to the edge of the island as they could. Gau was helping the fallen Magitek pilot, and they were quite close to port as well. Michals stood guard over the fallen dragon with the last Magitek armor behind him. But Sabin and Marcus were in the front, tearing apart a behemoth as they tried to keep the monsters far away from the port.

"Marcus!" Edgar screamed again, "ATMA!"

Those two syllables caught Marcus' attention. With fluid grace, Marcus ducked underneath the purple monster's claws and tore a crippling wound to its legs. Marcus turned to Sabin as he easily sidestepped a powerful blow. "You heard your brother!" he shouted.

Sabin nodded. They did not want to face Atma again. The last time had nearly been fatal, and they were well rested and far more prepared at the time.

The two warriors ran with all their strength from the dying behemoth.

---

"Well," Locke said as he helped Gau push the crippled Magitek armor, "this is just complete idiocy."

Gau moaned something unintelligible as the two men continued to strain themselves.

Davis Malsbury, the Magitek pilot, groaned as he finally squeezed his way from beneath the armor and monster. "Thanks," the weary soldier said, happy to be finally out of his prison.

"It's the least I could do," Locke sighed in relief as he let go of the Magitek armor. He wanted to sit down, as tired as he was, but knew they were still very much in danger. The island's rumblings had grown more and more violent, and the regular shaking was only serving to agitate the monsters nearby.

"Are you hurt? I don't think the Blackjack has the time to land," Locke glanced at Davis, concerned. The Imperial pilot had risked his life to save him when it was probably unnecessary. It wasn't the first time, both Magitek pilots had taken plenty of risks while they fought the Imperial Guard. Locke had stared down entire squadrons of charging soldiers only to witness their firey demise. He felt greatly indebted, even if it was to the brown uniform of the Empire. "It's probably going to be quite a jump, and we have enough injured already." Locke pointed at Terra and Cyan. Though the Doma knight acted otherwise, it was clear that he was quite wounded from being airborne and then buried beneath a landslide. The knight was resigned to defend Terra if all else went wrong, and Locke would ensure Cyan did not stand alone.

As for Terra, she had yet to speak. Though she was conscious again, something had shaken her to the very core.

"I'll be fine," Davis said. "The men will be jealous that I survived a melee with one of those giants and," the older pilot beamed, "it'll make a great story for my kids."

Locke flashed his signature smile. No one noticed how much it quivered.

The three hurried their way to Terra and Cyan. Though they were close to the edge of the continent, they had avoided straying too close. Many of the quakes had dislodged great chunks from the continent's periphery. No one was keen on falling to their death.

"Locke," Cyan turned towards him. "Art thou confident Sir Michals and Lady Siana will be safe?"

"Don't you worry about Siana," Davis answered. "Though she might not look like it, she's been piloting armors longer than I have."

Locke glanced over at Davis, an eyebrow raised. Pilot First-Class Davis Malsbury looked to be in his early forties, though the clean-shaven and unscarred warrior might have been older. However, the last time Locke looked over the luscious redhead in the cockpit of the second Magitek Armor, she looked as old as Terra or Celes.

"I can tell you don't believe me, but Siana's been piloting those things since," Davis paused. With the exception of Terra, everyone watched with a measure of envy as Siana's Magitek armor burned through another rampaging behemoth. Two quick beams had instantly taken out the legs of the gigantic purple monster. As the monster crashed to the ground, two more beams ripped into the bulk of the monster. The great beast screamed in pain as its flesh began to bubble and burst, red steam rising from the fiery discharge.

"As I said," Davis beamed as Siana turned the rampaging behemoth into a burning corpse. "She piloted that unit before Tzen joined the Empire. I was a mere grunt at the time."

Locke shrugged, "does that answer your question, Cyan?"

Cyan nodded. "I will retire to the edge. I have a feeling Setzer shall show up soon."

---

"Michals," Sabin gasped as he and Marcus reached the Lieutenant and the last Magitek armor.

Marcus grunted in pain, running in full plate had exhausted the soldier. "Lieutenant, ideas?" he asked as he caught his breath.

Michals was relaxed, his twin blades sheathed behind his back. "The Imperial Guard is in full retreat, I doubt even Nairne would be crazy enough to stay when this island is clearly going to fall apart. We should probably do the same," he responded. "Nairne is a fanatic but he's not an idiot."

Sabin glanced up at the Magitek armor, something was bothering him.

"And the men?" Marcus asked as the three of them began to jog back to the others. Behind them, they could hear the engines of the Magitek armor whine as it slowly backed up.

"Safe. We managed to arm most of the weapons that were mounted before they got into the air. Sergeant Arthal has experience flying those things, so there shouldn't be any problems," Michals said. "And I don't think the Air Force would fire at the Emperor's Airship, even if they suspected something. They don't have the balls."

"Good thinking," Marcus gave a quick nod of approval. He narrowed his eyes as he noticed the group ahead of them. "Where's the King? He warned us about Atma and then disappeared."

"Atma?" Michals asked. "We can't afford another battle with it."

The three men reached the group now, Terra, Locke, Gau and Davis. They looked around, the port was eerily empty. Aside from the rumbling of the ground, the looming danger of the ground falling away, the port was quiet and safe.

"Where's the Blackjack?" Marcus asked.

Locke shrugged and Davis shook his head. Terra seemed distant, and Gau was... well, doing something, Marcus couldn't quite figure out what the lad was doing to the ground. Marcus ignored the four and scanned the port, realizing that if the gambler didn't show up, they would all die when the island crashed... if Atma didn't kill them first.

As if to calm Marcus' unspoken worries, Edgar shouted. "Over here!"

Edgar was at the edge of the floating landmass, Cyan at his side and looking quite disturbed. They leaned dangerously over the island, staring below.

---

Setzer Gabbiani glanced to the portside, squeamish about being so close to the floating island. The port had been out of the question, the island was simply too unstable for him to land with any degree of reliability. The airship pilot and accomplished gambler felt a bead of sweat run down his back. This was as close as he could get without risking everyone's lives.

He looked upwards. "That's it!" he shouted.

"That's it?" came the reply. It was the thief's voice, as irritating as ever.

Setzer ignored him and hit the levers to steady the airship's rise. "Any higher and you won't make it!" he screamed.

"This is utter insanity!" Strago Magus, the elder mage and lore-master, strolled to the bridge. "Having them jump such a distance will kill them!"

"They're not as old as you," Setzer snapped. "And if we tried to land, we might all be stuck on that infernal island right now. I might be the best, but I can't land on that shaking island with any guarantees."

Strago mumbled something under his breath as he walked back to his position at the stern of the ship.

---

Edgar landed as well as he could. After all, he was an accomplished warrior. He had faced many dangers, and jumping great heights was not something that he would back away from. And he was merely three hundred pounds of man and metal diving down through a pitiful twenty meters of open sky. Landing well was absolutely no trouble at all.

He smashed onto the deck, shoulder first, and rolled until he crashed into one of the supporting pillars.

Edgar moaned in pain as he tried to stand. He collapsed back into the heap of broken planks that marked his landing spot, a sudden burst of pain erupting in his legs. He had definitely hurt himself that time, and counted himself lucky that he had not broken any bones.

Cyan was next, the Doma knight casually considering the events of the day as he leaped. After all, this would be the second time in the day that he had flown like a bird. Except this time, it was under his own power.

Experience where it mattered, the older warrior landed considerably better than the King. Cyan still broke into the deck shoulder first, but he managed not to roll into anything.

"What are you trying to do, smash a hole through my ship?" Setzer snapped at them.

Edgar cursed creatively about Setzer's romantic intentions before he finally stood up. "You try jumping that distance!" he shouted.

Davis and Michals were next. Both had watched the men before them. Both improved on the time-honored technique of hurling oneself through open air without any consideration for the landing.

With two more piles of broken planks, a broken propeller and even some damaged rigging, Setzer wondered which would do more damage: landing the ship on an island that was breaking apart, or letting these monsters on board.

To Marcus' credit, the Captain landed far better than any of the men before him. He was totally unhurt, and did not break Setzer's airship anymore so. The Captain landed on two feet, rolled, and smashed into a rapidly recovering Edgar.

As the two men began cursing each other, moments short of a fist fight, Terra and Locke landed on the airship without any incident. The thief had cleverly spelled himself and Terra. They had floated through the air; Terra blindly led by Locke, and touched down on the deck beside Relm. Locke even knelt down, patted Strago's granddaughter on the head, before shaking his index finger side-to-side at Edgar and Marcus.

Michals picked himself off the ground and made his way to Setzer. "There should be three more, everyone else left on other ship," he said. "After them, we should make best haste to Albrook."

Setzer turned his black eyes at the green armored Lieutenant. "Albrook is back south, in the direction of the IAF. We're not going back there."

"But-" Michals began.

Setzer shook his head. "Unlike your men, we are not flying the Emperor's personal airship. We're not getting back through the blockade without some serious artillery."

"What could the Imperial Air Force still field? Between what we annihilated on the way in, and the number called back to the Vector airfields, I can't see anything being powerful enough to take care of this ship. Especially not with the speed you demonstrated earlier," Michals said.

"Listen, there's three airships circling the island from above, and they're all looking for us," Setzer pointed upwards. "It'll be difficult enough to outrun them without having to deal with the southern fleet."

"Three airships?"

Setzer turned around, recognizing the Magitek pilot instantly. It had been quite the challenge to fit both Magitek units onto his airship. He had worked closely with both pilots to ensure no unnecessary damages. They were both quite friendly and resourceful.

"That's right Davis, three of them," Setzer turned back to Michals. "And that's why I'll be taking us directly north, with all intentions of getting back to Figaro before the IAF comes after us. Even they will think twice before crossing the ocean."

Michals nodded in understanding. "Alright, but just keep in mind that the Imperial Air Force doesn't operate under standard policy. They get orders direct from the Emperor and-"

"I know that!" Setzer interrupted the Special Forces soldier. "You think I've lived this long flying an airship without knowing how the IAF works? I'm telling you right now this is the only way we'll live!"

"Very well," Michals left Setzer to his own devices, but Davis stayed behind and whispered in awe. "Incredible, you were flying around with three airships on your tail? How did you survive for this long?"

"Ingenuity, skillful piloting, good looks," Setzer flashed a dashing smile.

"Yeah, and having a mage that could set fire to the decks of your enemy couldn't have helped, could it?" Strago asked.

Before Setzer could respond, Marcus cut him off.

Marcus, finally separated from Edgar by Cyan, had asked the obvious.

"What's taking them so long?"

---

Sabin dived, pushing Siana out of the way. The strange monster missed, its claws swiping at thin air as it reoriented itself. Standing on one leg, the clown-like monster grinned at them. It looked like a starved circus performer, scrawny with its skin colored by paint. Its right half was red, its left white. A hideous mask covered its face, hiding all but the aggravating grin.

"Nerapa thinks Lord Atma will like these," it said.

Sabin put himself between the monster, Nerapa as it called itself, and Siana. The Magitek pilot had just dismounted when the monster had struck them. Sabin had stayed behind when he realized that they were not going to be able to load the armor back onto the airship. That was fortunate, as he had managed to save the red haired soldier before she was ripped apart by the clown. When he had tried to attack the monster, the thing jumped around him and had tried to strike Siana again.

Nerapa twisted, bending backwards in an inhuman fashion.

"I hate clowns," Sabin mumbled as he watched the monster continue to hop around on one leg in a rhythmic, mesmerizing pattern.

It suddenly shot forward, its entire body coiling like a viper.

It was fast, but Sabin was faster. The martial artist nailed the monster in the side with a spinning kick, sending the lightweight clown flying backwards.

"Siana, get on the airship!" he shouted. He was keeping his eyes on the clown, but spared a quick look back to ensure that the Magitek pilot was running. Knowing that she was too far for Nerapa to strike easily, Sabin concentrated on crippling the monster.

But as Nerapa stood back up on one leg, Gau struck. The beast child tore at the clown savagely, a strange mix of martial prowess and primal instinct, before the monster simply overpowered Gau and sent him backwards into the air.

Yet Gau landed on both feet, flipping over in the air like a cat. Sabin did not join the melee, knowing that he might cause injury to Gau. And... it seemed that the kid was actually doing quite well on his own.

Nerapa hopped towards the beast child, again in a rhythmic, one-legged fashion. Gau merely stood his ground, watching...

The monster coiled out, lashing quickly as it had before against Sabin. Only this time, it did not bend backwards. It intended to surprise its opponent.

Gau stepped to the side, a wild grin on his face as he raised one leg like the monster. He bent backwards as well, to Sabin's utter dismay, and shot forward. The young child landed a number of blows to the mask of the clown. The clown screamed in pain as fell to the ground. Gau continued landing blows on the fallen monster, but Nerapa recovered quickly. With a leg and an arm, it struck Gau in the stomach. It flipped upside-down, maintaining its balance on one hand, and sent Gau backwards with a single powerful roundhouse kick. It flipped back onto its feet, satisfied with the last blow.

Sabin charged forwards, nailing Nerapa in the leg before punching the clown in the face. The mask was hard, but nothing compared to behemoth's thick skin. And Sabin had used all his strength, along with his momentum.

Nerapa fell to the ground, stunned momentarily.

Without a second thought, Sabin turned around and ran. He grabbed Gau with one hand, picking the child up by the skins he wore, and simply ran as fast as he could to the edge of the island.

In front of him, Siana stared into the space that she was to jump. It seemed quite impossible, and she felt nauseous just looking over the cliff. The airship was a long way down, and the deck seemed awfully small considering all the open sky around it.

Sabin picked up the red haired pilot with his other hand and threw her onto his shoulder as he had done with Gau. With both child and pilot, one on each shoulder, the mighty warrior leaped into the air.

The three flew into the blue sky, carried solely by Sabin's momentum. Siana had quickly gone from screaming at Sabin to let go, to screaming at him to hold tight. One look below him, and Gau also held on for dear life. "Mr. Thou!" he screamed.

Locke watched as Sabin landed on both feet. Edgar's brother cracked the deck as he landed, but remained upright. He let go of Gau and Siana, Gau falling onto the floor, while Siana was still holding onto Sabin for her life. Both were completely scared out of their minds.

"You--" Locke pointed at Sabin.

Sabin glanced over at Locke, and then over to the broken planks that marked landing sites for everyone else. He looked at his brother, who was still covered in splinters from the wooden columns he had smashed into, and then to Davis, Michals, Cyan and Marcus.

Sabin laughed.

---

The Blackjack sped away from the island as it collapsed. Its flight path, previously floating above Vector, had deteriorated and was now headed north.

Which was perfect for Setzer. They sped away in safety, the island blocking the southern Imperial fleet's view, as Strago and Relm once again proved their skill with magic.

The Imperial Air Force had always had its own airships for military use. A well-kept secret, only a few had knowledge that the Air Force actually had functional ships. It was public knowledge that the Empire had built airship engines, Vector's electrical generators were based off the same concepts. But actual flying ships were unknown to many. The reason was two-fold. Despite having access, it was rare for top-ranked commanders to use airships in warfare. They were too expensive to waste transporting a pitiful number of men across the ocean, so most of the armed forces had never seen the airforce in action. This lead to their use in the secretive Special Forces. Outfitted with weapons that rivaled those defending the Magitek factory in Vector, they were capable of minor bombing tasks, quick hit and run attacks on terribly outmatched opponents, or expediently delivering soldiers in insertion and extraction missions.

They never expected to be fighting another airship though. And certainly not an airship with accomplished descendants of Mage Warriors on board.

Strago and Relm unleashed a chaotic explosion, the two working in tandem as they cast spell after spell at their pursuers. To the commoner, it would have looked like a rainbow of colors from one ship showering three others behind them.

The airship captains flew erratically, never prepared for a war of magic. The Blackjack was well out of range of their mounted cannons, and the Imperial Air Force did not have Magitek Knights aboard.

Setzer screamed orders without bothering to tear his eyes from the displays in front of the wheel. Much like their flight towards the island, the Blackjack was pushed to her limits. Unlike their flight in, they did not have the safety of commandeered Sky Armors around them. Of course, they were also far faster now, since they were not carrying a company of soldiers and two Magitek Armors.

Still, Setzer screamed orders to simply keep the ship going as fast as it was. Relm and Strago cast spells until they tired themselves out, and even then they continued.

But it was not enough.

Spitfire Sky Armors, twin propeller aircraft with little in the way of artillery, caught up with the Blackjack. The few that escaped the blasts of magic that Strago laid down jumped onto the deck of the Blackjack. They could see that the mages could easily destroy their Sky Armors and chose to fight on foot instead.

However, those men were torn apart wherever they landed. Sabin, Marcus and Michals positioned themselves well; the capable warriors more than a match for pilots turned foot soldiers. They fended off with ease whatever the IAF attempted.

---

Under the deck, Locke held Terra's hands. Her blue eyes were still distant, and that made Locke more than a little worried.

Siana Deardon was also there. Unlike Davis, she had no experience with airship engines. She had tried to help Edgar, but the King told her to rest instead.

"What happened to her?" Siana asked.

Locke shook his head. "I don't know. She's been like this for a while now and I'm almost certain that the Statues have something to do with it." He felt powerless, he had promised to protect Terra and he could do nothing now. He should have gone with them to face Gestahl. Edgar had been adamant that they couldn't afford to let anyone else other than Cyan go with Terra and Celes. Locke gritted his teeth. He had allowed himself to be swayed by Edgar's smooth words. Against an old man and a crazy clown, three to two odds were great compared to the twenty to one odds they had faced against the Imperial Guard. Locke shook his head. He shouldn't have listened to Edgar. He had failed her again.

"She's half-esper, anything to do with the statues would affect her before it would affect us," Siana agreed. The red haired pilot had been told about the statues, nearly all of Marcus' men had been told. After all, they had the right to know what the Emperor had intended to do. They had to make the choice for themselves: whether to follow the Emperor, or their former General.

Locke wondered about Celes, and whether she was alright. The Floating Continent was breaking apart as it fell, the magic holding it in the sky slowly losing its grip. He swore at the helplessness of his situation. First Edgar had stopped him from protecting Terra and Celes when they needed him, then Marcus had delayed until they were forced to abandon Celes to the island. His fists were shaking from uncontrollable anger.

"The statues-"

Terra's hands suddenly gripped his, the shock causing Locke to grimace in pain. Her eyes went wide, shock replacing the emotionless look that had been on her face for so long now.

"Locke, the statues," she said.

"What about them?" Locke asked, the rage boiling inside forgotten in an instant as he watched Terra eyes refocus.

"The statues, they're resonat-" Terra let go of Locke's hands, clutching at her ears as she closed her eyes in pain.

Locke narrowed his eyes. "Terra?"

Terra closed her eyes, tears welling up as she rocked in her seat. She hunched over, her long hair cascading off her shoulders to hide her face. Her shoulders shook as she sobbed.

"Terra!" Locke grabbed at her arm, concerned at her sudden lapse.

"The statues..." Terra said as she collapsed against him, so intent on keeping the noise from reaching her ears. "They're... in pain."

"In pain?" Locke echoed.

She looked up at him, her blue eyes wide open.

The fine hairs on the back of Locke's neck rose.

Terra was bleeding; from the ears, from the eyes. Locke was simply scared by the look on her face. A look of torture and agony, her eyes were driven wild by the pain that only she could feel.

"The world is going to end," she whispered hoarsely.

---

Relm saw it first.

A beam of light, bright white, erupted from the Floating Continent. The light hit the ground, raking along the earth. It tore apart the surface and left a trail of angry red magma. A huge fireball followed the trail and grew ever larger, bright yellow flames devouring everything that the light had missed.

And another.

They stared in shock as beam after beam tore across the land in every direction. At first there had only been one. Then a second appeared, lancing out in another direction. Before their brilliance faded, dozens shot from the island in every direction. Blazing white light projected from the center of the Floating Continent, tearing it apart as they shot outwards. What little they could see of the light was more than enough to scare them.

Where the light hit, the very ground was annihilated. Like the floating continent, the land that the light destroyed did not merely rupture on contact. It tore apart with the force of hundreds of explosions. The land seemed to ripple and break, great chasms opening. Rifts in the land spewed out the fires beneath. Red streams of molten lava that erupted forth added to the infernos that followed each brilliant display. The world spewed forth its lifeblood, trails of black smoke and dust rising from opened wounds.

Each successive blast of magic -- no one pretended it was anything else -- seemed to grow more destructive, more apocalyptic. One shot directly underneath the floating landmass, the ground beneath instantly disintegrated as a fireball -- a glowing ball of deadly gas -- was released from the explosion. The fireball consumed everything around it, quickly expanding while it grew brighter than the Sun. It was one of many tiny stars that had suddenly been born that day.

Towards the south and beyond the Kavanagh Mountains -- where the initial beam of light had struck -- was the first fireball. It had cooled while it expanded and rose; losing enough of its glow so their naked eyes could watch without pain. Smoke and dust had been dragged into the sky and formed an unnatural mushroom cloud. The cloud continued to cool, its color gradually turning white as it formed layer upon layer of overlapping cloud cover. Rain began to fall from the sky, a deadly black cascade of water that dragged down with it poisonous dust and debris from the initial explosions.

"The Goddesses protect us," Strago whispered. "The world is dying."

Edgar realized he was holding his breath. The black rain could be seen from their position, so far away that the Kavanagh Mountains were dots on the horizon. It was the most frightening thing he had ever seen, and nothing in his education could explain any of the things he was seeing now. None of the blasts of light that were still scattering from the midst of a huge black cloud -- the floating island's remains, though Edgar doubted it was still floating -- caught his attention like the darkness that fell upon the lands.

Then a beam of light came towards them.

Relm screamed while Edgar stood in shock, both watching the light thunder towards them. Setzer was still concentrating on his airship, pushing the Blackjack's engines so that they could escape the Imperial Air Force. Marcus, Michals and Sabin were too well trained to stare at the destruction behind them. They had been in motion the whole time, though that would never have saved them.

The beam missed, by quite a wide margin, and instead swept across the mountains before them.

Edgar watched in awe as the mountains exploded, great balls of fire erupting from the lands before them. The mountain peaks were cleaved from their foundations, great precipices of rock crashing into the pyres below. Another glowing fireball rose into the air and lit up the blackening sky. Yet another mushroom cloud in its infancy, but surrounded by a massive screen of smoke that expanded.

Then he realized it was not smoke, but what had been blown off the ground.

Dirt, gravel, trees, boulders, it did not matter. Debris rose in a giant wall before them, traveling faster than any airship. A blast wave of highly compressed and fast moving air that carried with it the surface of a forest.

Edgar dived towards Relm, his thoughts only of protecting the child from the apocalypse.

The airship rocked in the sudden gust, Edgar smashing against yet another pillar. He screamed in pain, but could barely hear himself speak. The winds ripped into the airship, his stomach lurching as the deck twisted and turned. He thought he dimly heard Setzer screaming in the great gusts, but could make out no words. Instead, he concentrated all his power in remaining on the deck of the airship, the winds trying to tear him off and send him flying into the skies.

Edgar held Relm close to the deck as the gusts of wind ripped by. He could hear nothing but the rushing winds, and saw nothing but a brown haze. He kept his eyes closed; the winds stung his eyes every time he attempted to figure out his surroundings. He lost track of how many times the airship spun, his stomach twisting and turning as they flew through the screaming cries of a dying world.

And then everything cleared up.

The ringing in his ears continued, but the winds died down. The airship's floor leveled off. Edgar got to his feet, looking around in wonder.

They had survived.

Edgar grinned, somehow, they had survived.

And then he realized that Setzer was still screaming. Edgar looked around, noticing that Marcus and Michals had thrown themselves close to the bridge, taking advantage of the instrument panels to break the winds and save themselves. Sabin was on the ground, one hand firmly holding onto a pillar, the other holding onto Strago.

It was a lucky coincidence that everyone else had gone below.

That was when Edgar realized Setzer was still screaming orders, and that the airship, though it seemed calm, was not calm at all. It was calmer than when the winds had threatened to tear him from the Blackjack's deck, but the airship was still rumbling.

The ringing in his ears died down, and Setzer's mouth suddenly formed real words.

"I can't stabilize the altitude!" Setzer screamed.

Edgar looked up, noticing the huge hole in the airship's wedge-shaped balloon. Black smoke bellowed from the horrendous wound, leaving a trail behind them as they sped towards their impeding doom. His eyes opened wide, a shock of fear paralyzing him where he stood.

"We're going to crash!" Setzer screamed.

The airship streaked past the huge crater where mountains had been moments before, going hundreds of times faster than it was safe to travel at such a low altitude. They had crashed once before, Edgar had been flying the Blackjack, but this time was different. The engines were still pushed to the limits, straining to outrun airships that no longer chased them.

Setzer was a skilled pilot, deftly winding his way through the mountain range despite the incredible speed and lack of lift. The gambler, long white hair flying freely behind him, spun the wheel and continued screaming orders that were not being followed.

But no matter how good Setzer was, he was merely delaying the inevitable. And as the forests beneath them loomed up, Setzer could do no more for his airship.

The Blackjack clipped a great pine, its speed so immense that it tore the tree out of the ground. But as the ship spun from the impact and burst through the thick canopy, its momentum was exhausted. The Blackjack smashed into an unyielding wall of pine and spiraled to the ground.

Edgar no longer thought about protecting Relm. There was no time.

As the airship broke upon the ground, Edgar felt the deck disappear beneath him. He looked forward in dread, unable to avoid the unavoidable.

The ground broke his fall. The pain that accompanied it only lasted a moment, but it was a moment of such intensity that it felt like an eternity. The agony of a thousand battle wounds, compressed into a single sliver of time. Flesh and bone meeting cold, rigid rock. It was the shock of searing torture that ripped through his body, taking the breath from his lungs. Fire burned through every inch, every muscle in his body felt like it was being pulled apart.

His world went black. 


	2. The Long Night

**The Second Chapter - The Long Night**

He couldn't breathe.

The fumes and the smell was absolutely horrid. Thick black smoke made it impossible for him to take a breath; he was literally choking on the ashes in the air. There wasn't much time and if Relm was in the house, he had to save her. After all, Terra-

Terra. The name was like a bolt of lightning, shocking Locke back into reality. The thief's eyes snapped wide open, only to quickly close as the fumes stung his eyes. His memory slowly cleared up... The ceiling of a house did not just cave in on him. He was not trying to save Relm from being devoured in the magical inferno.

Hell, they weren't even in Thamasa. He tried laughed at his own stupidity, but the deadly fumes denied him even that.

Locke tried to move, but couldn't. His legs, he couldn't feel them at all. His arms felt like cardboard left out in the rain, weak and completely useless. He opened his eyes, trying to get a bearing on his surroundings, but all he saw was smoke. Locke narrowed his eyes and made out the scorching inferno beyond; a red haze of flickering flames that licked at the innards of the airship, devouring everything and spewing forth thick knots of black smoke... but there was no sign of Terra. Attempting to cry out her name, he coughed uncontrollably instead; his breaths coming out in ragged gasps.

Locke's eyes watered from the pain as he searched for any sign of Terra, threatening to close against his will. Locke could barely see that his legs were trapped beneath debris. Debris that had yet to catch on fire, but...

Great, Locke thought. Again he was trapped underneath what would soon be firewood, except this time he did not have a Cane of Ice from Strago's home.

The thief twisted around, trying to get on his back. His arms burned in effort as he attempted the most difficult push-up of his life. If he could just get some wiggle room, it might be possible to-

Locke screamed out in pain.

Curses flowed freely despite his lack of air. The prison of broken lumber that encased his legs had collapsed even further. He could feel splinters digging into his ankles and opening fresh wounds. Warm blood was dripping down his legs and the world was beginning to spin dizzily. Locke collapsed back onto his stomach, his arms spent from the attempt. Tears ran down his cheeks, his eyes too watery for him to clearly see anything at all.

"Terra," he gasped with the remainder of his energy. I'm sorry, -- even his voice had failed him now -- I couldn't keep my promise.

As he lay dying in the ruins of the Blackjack, his thoughts wandered back to forbidden memories. Tears of sorrow welled up in his eyes as he relived that fateful day in Mt. Kolts.

"Rachel. I failed you..."

Anger rushed through his veins. He would not die like this. He would not fail again. He had made a promise, and even if he had to fight his way through the entire Imperial Army, he would keep his word. Half-blind? Unable to move his arms or legs? Too helpless to merely get out from under some mere dead trees? That was not enough to stop him!

Locke gritted his teeth as he felt renewed vigor rush through his veins. His arms pushed against the floor, muscles feeling like they would simply rip apart as he gave it his all.

Whatever had been digging into his leg drove harder into his feet. Locke would have cried out in pain, but he was simply too numb to care anymore.

He would not die. Not here. Not yet. He had too much to atone for.

---

Sabin collapsed on the ground, drawing the attention of Cyan and Relm. The Doma Knight quietly told Relm to continue her work and went to Sabin's aid.

Sabin was burned badly. His blond hair was charred and much of his tanned body reddened from the fires of the airship. Patches of his skin were blackened and leathery. Other parts of his body were blistered and chafed. The warrior had gone back into the inferno against their advice, and it looked like he had tested and exceeded the limits of his strength.

But he had dragged out an unconscious Davis.

Cyan dropped to his knees and examined the Magitek pilot. His leather armor was mostly burned to ash, with much of his skin red and swollen. Blisters were everywhere and like Sabin, some of his skin had turned black and leathery. Dried blood masked the entire right half of his face.

For the old Doma Knight, it was nothing new. He had seen injuries like this all his life. Fire was always a heartless murderer.

Cyan was silent, his fingers moving as he worked to alleviate familiar wounds. He ripped off pieces of his tunic and tried to clean off Davis' face as much as he could. The pilot had a pulse and he was still breathing. Those were good signs, Cyan thought. The irony of the situation was lost on him though. After all, he had treated many of his countrymen in the same manner during the war with the Empire, and now he was treating an Imperial pilot.

A cry of relief brought Cyan's head up. Relm and Terra were both standing with their hands out, a soft blue glow surrounding them, as sparkles of magic showered the airship. The fires shrank from the blue flashes, and then quickly died with hardly a puff of smoke.

At least that was something that finally worked. Relm and Terra had been trying to put out the fire with their magic for sometime now, Cyan couldn't remember how long. They had worked tediously after Relm had regained consciousness.

Cyan was still torn inside, frightened at the prospect of such a young child involved with their affairs. Fortunately, Relm had only bumped her head. She had been lucky. If she had died, he didn't know how he would deal with it.

Terra ran up to Cyan, her jacket in tattered pieces but covering the grievous wound across her back. Her eyes were red from the strain, and she looked like she was ready to collapse as Sabin had. To her credit, she remained upright.

"I can do more for him than you can," Terra said. "Please... the airship..." Her voice had regained some of its strength and she had stopped crying.

Cyan nodded in agreement as his hands lowered Davis' head back to the ground. He was careful, unlike Sabin, and made sure Davis was lying on the ground in a comfortable manner. He turned to the remains of the airship as Terra tended to the injured pilot.

The Blackjack was broken in two. It had splintered on impact and nearly killed them all. Much of it was unrecognizable now, a pile of smoking rubble that could barely be perceived as anything more than firewood.

And still in the debris were their friends.

"I'll help."

Cyan turned to the side. It was Edgar. Cyan took note of the King's right arm hanging uselessly in a makeshift sling.

Edgar looked terrible. Gone was the regal aura that accompanied him. His heavy armor had been left on the ground, broken in many pieces, and he wore a dirty bloodstained shirt. His blue cape was gone, having been removed to cushion Relm while she was unconscious. Dark shadows lined the creases on his face, creases from stress unbefitting to one so young. Although he kept his tall stature, he was a shadow of his former self.

Siana and Terra had saved Edgar's life; a combination of experienced first-aid and powerful magic kept the King from dying due to his concussion and internal bleeding. Terra's ability to heal others had been taxed this day, and it was fortunate that Siana could dress battle wounds in her sleep. The pilot had even created the sling for Edgar's arm, fashioned out of clothes in their packs.

Cyan noticed Siana trying to bandage Sabin's burns. The burned martial artist scowled as the Imperial pilot applied ointment to his skin.

"She'll do a good job, and he's my brother," Edgar said as he noticed Cyan's distraction. "He won't die," he said it like a statement of fact.

Cyan nodded, his slow motions betraying his fatigue, and made his way to the airship.

---

They gave up two hours later. It was close to dusk by the time, and the heavily clouded skies made it a nightmare to see. Dark, thick clouds had swarmed overhead, blocking out the sun and added to the shade that the forest canopy provided. As dusk approached, it was simply too difficult to search the debris without at least torches, and even then, the flickering light was dangerous to health and safety. That didn't take into account the constant rumblings of the ground, like distant earthquakes, that threatened their balance and felled a few trees every few minutes.

A small campfire burned. The paltry flames provided light and warmth, but it was little comfort to the few that gathered around it. They had not yet left the crash site and instead made themselves as comfortable as they could near the smoking wreck. The shadows danced in the flickering light beneath the forest canopy where they made shelter for the night. They were a gathering of tired adventurers, drained and exhausted, drowning in their shared sorrows.

Off to the side of the camp was a single tired soul, her green ponytail undone in such a manner to hide the bloodied wounds on her neck and back. Her hands hovered over the head of a child, sparkling white magic dancing from her fingertips in vain.

Terra closed her eyes, a single tear running down her cheek as she gave up. She felt the still-uncomfortable sensation of reverting from her Esper-form. The lifeless body in her lap rolled to the side, long since dead.

It had been a hopeless task: to try to save his life. She should have given up a long time ago, as exhausted as she was. Even tranforming had done nothing. Her Esper-form had never been any more skilled at healing.

She didn't know how long she sat there, the wisp of a spell still glowing on her fingers. But the sound of footsteps eventually brought her head around.

Cyan said nothing as he helped Terra up. The two walked back to the fire. Only Locke glanced up, the only one of them that still had any hope remaining. But the thief saw the look on Terra's face and knew immediately.

Cyan and Edgar had found Locke alive in the wreckage, after somehow crawling his way underneath one of blackjack tables that Setzer had owned. He had been unconscious at the time, but aside from small wounds he had survived. It was a small miracle; neither Cyan nor Edgar could imagine how Locke had managed to avoid being crushed when the airship collapsed. According to what Terra and Siana had told them, the two women had been thrown clear to one side, while Locke had been thrown to the other. The airship had the splintered in two and collapsed, with Locke trapped in the worse of the fragments.

Terra tried to sit down, but ended up simply falling to her knees. Her shoulders shook -- not from the rumbling as another earthquake seemed to pass -- as she struggled to keep her composure.

"It's not your fault," Locke managed to say. Even with a half-injured leg, Locke had made his way beside Terra. His hands were on her shoulders, trying to reassure her.

Even Edgar was silent. He had a look in his face that Locke had never seen in all the time he had known the King. As Returners, they had been through worse. The Empire had never been kind dealing with strife, much less a group that was outright rebellious. Many friends had been lost to the Imperial Army.

They stared at the fire lifelessly. The flickering light showed the looks of despair and pain on each face for a moment before moving on to the next.

Michals was dead. The Lieutenant had been thrown clear of the crash, like Edgar, but had landed on his back. They had found him before the fires of the airship had begun to burn with incredible intensity. Two trees had broken his fall, and his body had been found underneath both fallen trunks.

He was Terra's first patient, before the fires devouring the airship had been put out. Terra had tried to heal the soldier's body, knitting broken bones together and tying flesh back to where it belonged.

He was Terra's first failure.

Terra had cried as Michals thanked her for everything. She had cried as Michals lost his voice, and could only squeeze her hand in reassurance. She had cried as she watched the life disappear from his clear blue eyes.

It marked the beginning of the worst day of her life.

For Siana and Sabin, watching Davis slip away had been beyond painful. Sabin had nearly gotten himself killed to save the pilot buried beneath the bowels of the airship. Davis had been in the engine room giving Setzer the speed he had needed. He was in the engine room when they hit the ground, nearest where the fires began.

And Sabin had pulled him out. Sabin had braved the inferno and personally carried the pilot out -- The martial-artist, ever the aspiring hero.

Davis was equally heroic. He had been burned alive, but refused to die. His skin had turned black and leathery, blood seeping from crisped skin, but he had stayed alive. Yet they could do nothing, even as Terra attempted with all her magic, to save his life.

Davis never even regained consciousness to witness their efforts. His heart had given out -- hours later than they had expected -- and Davis took his last breath in the arms of a teary half-esper.

Minutes later, they found Setzer buried beneath the pillars of the airship. On the bridge until the last moment, Setzer had still been at the wheel when his ship snapped in half. He had still been at the wheel as the forest fell around them. And finally, Setzer was knocked unconscious by pieces of the airship he had tried to save.

Perhaps it was because Setzer still breathed. Perhaps it was because his heart did not simply give out like Davis' had. Perhaps that had given Terra a small sliver of hope. The half-Esper was the only one of them that knew how to cast healing spells and she had tried her best to save everyone.

Setzer did not move. He had not yet woken from the grievous blow to his head and, like Davis, he had been burned quite badly by the fires. But he still breathed.

Yes, it had to be Setzer that had lifted Terra's spirits, even for a short while.

At least, until they had found Strago.

The old man was luckier than most, found underneath a pile of rubble untouched by the fires. Relm had cried seeing her grandfather injured so. She and Cyan had done their best to remove the old man without injuring him further. Though Relm was unpracticed, she and Terra combined their abilities and had somewhat stabilized Strago. Like Setzer, he had yet to regain consciousness. Although Relm needed the reassurance that her grandfather would be alright, they could give none. If the old man slipped away like Davis, well...

They had yet to find Marcus' arm.

Relm and Siana had been looking for a certain plant in the forest shortly after they stabilized Strago. They had found the Captain's body, quite far away from the airship.

He was worse off than anyone else, one leg broken and bleeding heavily from wounds in his chest. His armor was plastered with dried blood, and what little could be done for Marcus was not enough. He remained breathing, but with the extent of his injuries, it was doubtful that he would live through the night.

The last to be found was Gau. The young beast child had been in the engine room as well. Sabin had never seen Gau though, as he had been safely imprisoned beneath fire-resistant canopy that was to be used in case of engine fire. The same thing that had kept Gau from being burned alive had kept him from being rescued.

The young child, no more than thirteen, had suffered a massive concussion to the head. His arm had been broken, and he was suffering from blood loss when Cyan and Edgar found him.

Terra had tried her best, taxed far beyond her limits, to save the child. She had tried for the last two hours, watching Gau fade farther and farther away.

It had been hopeless, she knew. She should have given up, but how could she? He was barely thirteen.

Tears wet her lap. Terra had thought she could cry no more, but as she thought of Gau they welled up uncontrollably.

The small group was silent, surrounded in a lonely forest without as much as a whisper of life. The only noise was the sound of one green haired woman sobbing for her lost friends.

---

No one knew how long they watched the fire burn. But at some point after the distant quakes had quieted, Sabin stood up and dug his way through the supplies they had rescued from the airship. They had found a couple packs that had been salvageable, and amongst the supplies, the martial artist found a shovel.

For a long time they sat watching a small fire gradually die down. The sound of Sabin, shoveling alone, would be heard. His grunts of effort, despite the horrendous burns across his body, echoed in the dark forest.

Cyan joined and then shortly afterwards, Locke as well. The three men said nothing to each other but worked together without coordination. They dug from the ground, sharing the two shovels, and expected nothing from those around the fire.

Relm was fast asleep, falling unconscious beside a burned out Terra. The child had used her magic to the point of complete mental fatigue. Working alongside Terra, the two had exhausted their abilities and barely had the strength to move.

Edgar stared into the fire, deep in thought. He did not go to help; his broken arm would only get in the way. But he wanted to do something, anything, to take his mind off the thoughts of their dead friends. He noticed Siana was still tending to the injured: Setzer, Strago, and Marcus.

"My lady, you should get some rest," Edgar said as he approached the Imperial pilot. Siana was about the same age as Terra, Edgar was concerned that she was working herself into an early grave.

Siana did not take her eyes off of Marcus as she gently cleaned off his chest with a cotton rag. "The dirt in these cuts has to be removed or else they'll cause infections," she said plainly.

There was an edge in her voice that Edgar assumed was due to exhaustion. Deciding to be a bit more diplomatic, his voice took on a warm and friendly tone, "you'll do more harm than good when tired; one mistake and you'll just-"

"Then stop harassing me," she interrupted him rudely.

Edgar frowned. It was an undeserved snub, but he let it go. He watched silently while Siana continued her work. She remained focused on her task, applying healing salves after cleaning deep cuts. He decided that she was doing better than anyone else and returned to the campfire. He saw that Terra had also fallen asleep, and he was suddenly reminded of their initial meeting in Castle Figaro. A short-lived smile appeared on his face; his technique really was rusty.

---

The campfire, if it could be called as such, had died out. By then it was around midnight by Edgar's reckoning. They had finished the graves and gathered a small pile of firewood in the center. Each grave was marked with a small stone, the best they could find in such a short period of time. In the darkness of the forest, they were the only ones that made any noise. It was completely quiet, unnaturally so, and that only added to the despair they felt. They were alone in the world.

Locke lit the fire and stood back. The dark forest was once again illuminated by flickering orange-yellow light.

The group gathered around the fire, silent.

Terra stared blankly, her eyes long since dry of tears. She had witnessed the worst while trying to save lives. She had watched, her vision hazy while her spells fizzled, as Michals had died in her lap. It numbed her more than the chilly night could.

Beside her, Locke thought of Davis. His fist tightened thinking of how cruel life was. Davis had children, wasn't that what he said? Children that would now be without a father. One day, Locke promised. One day, he would find those kids and tell them how what kind of man their father had been.

Davis Malsbury and Michals Bethon, they had been their allies, their friends. They might have been Imperials but they were good people. Locke took Terra's cold hand and squeezed.

Cyan's eyes were dark and distant. He was no stranger to funerals. He knew that all the tears in the world would not bring the dead back. The knight watched the flames and said his prayers. The words were recited from memory without pause, yet another ally departing the living aboard the Phantom Train.

For Sabin, the loss of Gau had been a terrible blow. It was his fault. He had involved the child personally. He had failed to find him in the engine room. He had left Gau to die in the airship.

The martial-artist was silent. To anyone that might have been observing, Sabin looked like he was mourning the loss of his friends. But to Edgar, there was something else. Edgar could see it in Sabin's eyes. The same look in those blue eyes reminded him of the past, years ago when their father had died of poison. When they were still children themselves but forced to decide the future of their kingdom.

It was not sadness; Edgar knew that Sabin was blaming himself for each person lying in their grave. It was foolish, but Edgar knew that Sabin actually believed it in his heart. As always, his younger brother would carry the burden alone. Yet Edgar knew of no way to reach his twin brother.

Ten years had passed since their father had died from the poison of the Empire. And just like back then, Edgar could do nothing. His eyes wandered across Siana, who was standing close beside his brother. Her red hair was done in a bun, long red locks hidden underneath a beret. She stood tall and proud. Her uniform somehow looked crisp and clean despite the all the dirt and blood. She seemed to be reciting something under her breath, and then a crisp salute -- a clenched fist over her heart -- that was held for far longer than Edgar could watch.

He turned away from the fire, away from the grief and despair, and most important of all, away from the dead.

---

It was dark when Edgar woke. He had fallen asleep watching over Relm, concerned for the youngest of their group. With his back against the trunk of a tree and a short sword digging uncomfortably into his ribs, he had slept without the comfort of a blanket or a makeshift pillow. Even the dirt may have been softer than the bare bark that his back chafed against. The few bedrolls they had salvaged had been given to the injured, and then to Terra and Relm first. After that, there was little left to go around.

Edgar took a quick head count. Everyone else was still fast asleep. Edgar shook his head with wonder. It was a small miracle that they had lived through the night. They had been so distraught and unorganized that no one had suggested watches. In the past year there was hardly a single night without at least two people on watch. Yet here they were, in an indefensible open neck of the woods, totally unprepared for any danger.

Of course, none of them expected anyone to chase after them. Certainly not the Imperial Air Force, which had probably been ruined by the beams of light that tore apart the lands. At least the hells that had been visited upon them were indiscriminate. The Air Force was probably scattered across the lands in pieces, and whatever survived was probably no better off than they.

Monsters, on the other hand...

Edgar shook his head. No, there was no reason for the monsters to be still chasing them. Atma Weapon was resigned to the Floating Continent. It had some obscene reason to stay close to the Statues along with the legendary beasts that were the legions it had command over. Command, Edgar scoffed. That was a strange word to describe the control that Atma seemed to wield at times.

No, Atma Weapon would not chase them in vengeance. Not after they left the island. The other monsters were unintelligent beasts; nothing that could track them despite the blazing trail they left across the skies.

Yet Edgar still felt uneasy. Despite cold dictating logic that they were safe, he felt the opposite. Something was getting to his nerves, but he could not figure out what. Supplies were not a problem. Food was actually abundant. They couldn't carry all that Setzer had stored. At the bottom of the airship had been chests of Imperial rations. They were edible and would last a week or two. Setzer had kept a steady supply of the foodstuffs in his cargo bays, for what reason no one knew. They would not have to resort to foraging or hunting yet.

Water was a problem. What little they had would not be enough; they needed fresh water in unbroken skins or bottles. Fortunately there were plenty of those, again Setzer and his miraculous fire-resilient chests. There had even been some Imperial metal canteens. Finding clean water in the mountains might be difficult though. Edgar looked up towards the sky, expecting the black rain he had seen pour from those demonic mushroom clouds. There was nothing... yet.

Their lack of weapons was a serious problem though. Most of their gear had been irretrievable from the wreck, and what they could find had been broken. His favorite spear had shattered at some point during his fall, and much of his armor had been rendered unusable. He had found a short sword at some point during their search of the airship, but there was little else.

Edgar frowned. It dawned on him what was making him uneasy. As a young child he had often camped out in the woods near South Figaro. At that time, it had been peaceful and his father cared little in preparing them for their future. He had enjoyed many a night counting stars beside Sabin. They would ensnare rabbits and make a delicious stew, listening to stories from his father's knights. He could still remember one of the better stories. The Knight had paused, lengthening the suspense. It was then that Edgar could remember the chirping of the crickets, the call of the birds, as he had leaned closer to the fire waiting for the next stunning revelation.

This forest was quiet. Not just quiet, but dead quiet. The serenity of a forest that should have been full of wildlife chilled Edgar to the bones.

Surrounded by unnatural silence and covered by a blanket of darkness, Edgar Figaro stared at the ashes of a long dead fire until sleep took him again.

---

"I think I hear water."

They turned to Sabin, who had taken the lead with one of the three torches they carried.

No morning sunrise greeted them when they woke. Instead it was suffocating darkness, cold and unfriendly. According to Edgar, they had rested for well over ten hours. They all trusted Edgar's timekeeping skills. He had proven his ability to keep track of time without tools over the course of their journey. Many of their plans would have failed if it were not for the king.

The sky was still filled with dark black clouds churning violently far above them. Weak, sickly light that made it through the heavy cloud cover could not penetrate the thick canopy of the forest.

Fortunately, the lack of a morning sunrise was their only disappointment. Their first problem was the injured. Terra had checked on the three unconscious men. Setzer, laid out in a makeshift bed of leaves and bandaged all around, was still as docile as when they found him. His breathing was regular now, but his pulse weak. Strago was worse; his breathing was deep and rare. At times, they thought the old man had simply stopped breathing, only to wait a couple of minutes and see him draw another breath. It was nerve-racking.

Marcus made their injuries look like mere scratches. With his broken leg, missing arm, and the huge bandaged gash that had opened his chest and spilled much of his lifeblood, Terra winced in pain every time she looked at him.

Yet three men had made it through the night, and were still alive. That was a small relief.

It was too dangerous to move any of the injured. Terra's abilities had their limits, even with Relm's help. What little in the way of medical supplies they had was either not enough or unsuited to the task at hand. After all, concoctions were made to banish fatigue on the battlefield. They were not a replacement for real rest and capable treatment at the hands of a skilled doctor.

Cyan suggested they make a litter to carry their injured friends. At least if they remained lying down, they might stand the chance of surviving the journey that lay ahead of them.

After they finished a meager breakfast, the second problem became even more apparent. They were fast running out of fresh water.

Since Cyan was the only one who had made litters before, he had stayed behind with Locke to build what they could. Terra and Relm had remained behind as well. Although the reasoning had been so they could watch over the injured, everyone shared the same unspoken concern: the two girls were simply still too weak to travel.

Sabin, Siana and Edgar had struck out from the campsite, each with a torch lit by magic. Searching for water was one priority, trying to get their bearings was the second.

"My ears aren't as good as yours," Siana replied to Sabin. "But considering the thicket, I wouldn't be surprised if there was some sort of mountain stream that flowed nearby."

Siana was in better shape than either of the two brothers. Her injuries were minor and whatever had troubled her mind was pushed aside. She had pulled her long red hair into a pony tail and was now unconsciously twirling it around a finger as she looked around the darkened woods. Her hair looked like it was on fire because of the way their torch-flames danced.

"Agreed, I think we're getting closer to the highlands as well," Edgar commented. "The forest is getting sparser. Perhaps we could climb high enough to find out where we are."

They were completely lost. The mountains north of Tzen were quite expansive. Even when the Empire was expanding its territory, it was rarely traveled by people. With his compass broken, Edgar had assumed the sun would light their way, but the fates had conspired against them. Even the moss that normally grew on the north side of trees was nowhere to be found. Edgar had hoped they could find that moss, he had used the stuff to find his way home in the past. After finding conflicting directions though, Edgar had given up.

"I wouldn't suggest that," Siana said. "So far, we've been lucky and the ground has been pretty even. The closer we get to the mountains, the more difficult it'll be to get around. Especially in this freakish dark... with nothing more than these torches, it will be extremely dangerous. If any of us break a leg-"

"Then I'll just carry you back," Sabin interrupted as he broke a particularly large branch that was in his way.

Siana gave Sabin an irritated glance. "And if you break your leg? You're the least cautious of any of us," she snapped.

Sabin looked back at her, a quizzical look on his face. "Then I'll walk back," he replied nonchalantly as he continued his way through the heavy underwood.

Edgar chuckled at his brother's bravado as they followed the martial artist through the thicket. Pushing aside thorny bushes, they found themselves in front of a small stream of running water.

"Water, like I said," Sabin repeated. "I would never miss the sound of a river."

"This barely qualifies as a creek, much less a river," Siana retorted. The creek was barely two feet deep, though it was quite wide. It looked more like part of a ford than a creek. She bent over, dipping a finger into the cold water. "It's clean," she announced.

Edgar looked down, orange-yellow light from their torches reflecting off the crystal clear water.

"We could follow this to the sea," he said.

"Unless it leads into a valley," Sabin pointed out.

"The lady is right though," Edgar said. "Climbing higher so that we can see over the forest sounds great, and then I think about our total lack of light. Even if we make it without injury, the clouds are still blocking the sun so we probably still can't see anything! Getting back down would be hazardous at best. We're lacking any gear to make the climb, and even if we did, it could be a week's journey before we get high enough."

Sabin filled up his waterskin, shrugging. "If you think it's wise to follow this stream, then I guess we can do it," he said. "What do you think, Siana?"

Siana was filling a fourth canteen; her pack was full of containers that could hold water. She looked up, shaking her head. "We have no other options. The old man won't last long in his condition if we don't get to a doctor soon."

Edgar's mood soured as he thought of Strago passing away. Despite the fact that everyone wanted to keep Relm's mood up, no one was going to lie. The little girl, her age barely two digits in length, was doing her best to keep her grandfather alive. She was perceptive and intelligent. Relm knew the chances better than anyone else.

Edgar pushed the depressing thoughts from his mind, taking a well-deserved swig from his own waterskin in the process. "We better head back. We'll decide what to do when everyone has had something to drink," Edgar declared.

---

To Edgar's surprise, they were well-received when they returned to the crash site. They had taken the wrong route trying to return from the stream and nearly gotten lost in the cursed shadowy forest. Frustrated and tired, it was Siana who recognized a curious landmark of a jagged rock jutting out of the ground into a pine, as if the very earth had tried to fell a tree but failed. From there, the three adventurers had found their way back to the crash site, bringing fresh water to a thirsty crowd.

What they had not expected were the smiles on the fire-lit faces of Terra and Relm. It wasn't mere relief, it was actual joy. The two girls were in a happy mood. It was the first smile seen on Terra's face since... Edgar could not remember. Perhaps it was when Gestahl announced his plans to stop the war, many months ago back in Vector. When she had last smiled was no longer important, because things had changed.

Marcus was awake.

As the Captain drank his fill of the fresh water, Locke told Edgar what had happened.

While Cyan and Locke had been making the litter, Terra had decided that she was well rested enough to attempt a few spells she had seen cast in Thamasa. Although Strago had attempted to teach Terra some magic, she seemingly did not have the ability to learn from the books of lore he owned. However, she did try to copy and imitate what she saw.

As unnatural as it was, the younger Relm was actually the more learned of the two magic users. Relm had been schooled by Strago for most of her life and her textbook control of magic was a foil to Terra's chaotic instincts. As a result, Terra managed to stabilize a new healing spell-form with Relm's help.

Unfortunately, they had only one chance to use the spell. Keeping in mind that the effects of healing were not so much of the mind, but of the body, they decided to use it on Marcus, the most grievously injured of the three. From Terra's previous experience with Davis, the injuries to Strago and Setzer could only be overcome by the victim's own strength.

The spell apparently had not worked as they expected. Locke had been busy with Cyan by then, so he had missed out on what had happened. By the time they finished felling the trees and preparing the logs, Terra was taking a nap. According to Relm, Terra had exhausted herself doing all they could for Marcus.

Marcus awoke shortly after they had finished the litter.

Although it didn't seem like he would remain awake and conscious, Relm declared that Marcus was definitely recovering. By the time Edgar, Sabin and Siana had returned, he was wide awake and discussing with Locke what they should do next.

Edgar sat down next to Locke. Siana was checking on Marcus' bandages with a big smile on her face.

"You have no idea how happy we are to see you awake," Edgar said, picking his words carefully.

Marcus nodded. "Siana, I'll be fine, if you could just leave me alone for now," he said.

"Yes sir," Siana naturally responded. She took a seat on a fallen log next to Edgar.

Marcus turned to Edgar. "I think I can say that no one is happier than me to be awake," he said with a wisp of a smile on his face.

Edgar shrugged. "I suppose, but now that you're awake and the litters are made, we have some tough choices to make."

"Yes, Locke gave me an update on the airship crash. I didn't get a good idea where we were before we landed, but I do know the area surrounding Tzen fairly well," Marcus said.

"We have no idea what our bearings are," Edgar admitted. "The stream where we found fresh water is probably coming from the mountains, but that route is too treacherous for this darkness."

"I don't think we would have seen the ocean from the mountains anyways," Locke said. "As I was telling Marcus, I think our best bet is just to stick to the lowlands. It lowers the chances of the ground becoming a hazard, with dead leaves and vegetation hiding pitfalls and other dangers. We can't climb anyways: no light and too many injured. The litters are delicate enough."

"Agreed, but we'll follow the stream we found instead of just sticking the low ground. It should eventually make its way out to the sea," Edgar added.

Marcus nodded. "I agree, although I can't do much in the state I'm in," he coughed. "At least our water supply won't be an issue that way, and we can try to collect berries or something so we do not deplete our ration supply."

"These clouds are the real issue," Edgar stared upward. "Without the sun, it's going to get cold very fast. And from the looks of things, I don't think they're going away for a while."

"Magic?" Marcus asked.

Edgar shook his head. "Probably not," he thought back to the destruction the beams of light had wreaked on the world. "Have you ever seen a volcano?"

Marcus and Siana both nodded.

"An exercise was keeping the Magitek armor working even in extreme conditions," Siana explained. "One of those conditions ended up being in lava caves east of Albrook."

"Then you both know how much smoke rises from a volcano. I think the same thing happened when the Floating Continent unleashed those beams of light," Edgar said. "I can't begin to grasp the implications of what had happened. I'm no scholar. But the clouds aren't magical, although the cause is. I'd guess maybe a couple days at least before the clouds break up."

"A week of darkness..." Locke mumbled.

"Yes, and if making our way through the forest doesn't get us, the cold eventually will," Edgar added. "We had best gather what we can from the wreckage."

The group, their hearts lifted with Marcus' revival, made a final search of the airship. They gathered what supplies they could, especially bandages or clothes. Edgar told them it was going to get quite cold as long as the dark clouds churned above them so they bundled up as best they could.

While Cyan, Sabin and Locke argued about which of the three would carry the litter with Setzer and Strago, Siana and Relm finished a pair of crutches for Marcus. Unfortunately, he had lost one arm, so he still needed help to move around. Terra was hopeful that she could heal his leg by the next day.

Edgar, with his broken arm in a sling, stuffed their packs with everything that was still usable. Even partially burnt bedrolls could be used to keep them warm. He had been told stories of Figaro soldiers in the far north, beyond Narshe. The sun would set for weeks there and the cold was enough to freeze a man's tongue right off.

However, they soon reached the limits of what could be carried. Even Relm would have quite a load, and Cyan and Sabin had the litter to carry along with their own packs. The journey was going to be slow and grueling.

Locke lit two more torches, giving the second to Terra. Locke had avoided carrying Setzer and Strago by volunteering to stay in the lead. It was the most dangerous role since he would be forging a path for everyone to travel. Locke had fashioned a cane out of a particularly thick branch and was testing to see how he could poke at potential covered pitfalls. Once he was satisfied that the stick would easily tell the difference between leaf-covered ground and leaf-covered holes, he took out his knife and expertly carved a handle.

By that time, everyone was ready for the short march to the river. It was getting near sunset, and even if there was no sun to mark the coming of night, their muscles burned from the exhaustion of the day.

Edgar found Marcus and Siana near the graves of Gau, Michals and Davis. Siana held a torch with one hand, her other was steadying the Captain. The two had their heads down and stared at the ground. It was Marcus' moment of respect paid to his friends before they left. Everyone else had already said their piece the night before. For Relm, Terra and Sabin, they seemed to avoid the graves as often as possible.

Edgar said nothing, giving the two soldiers all the time they needed.

Marcus finished his prayer for PFC Davis Malsbury, making a note to himself that he would have to deliver the news to Davis' son. His son was his only child to survive the Esper attack on Vector. Marcus felt a surge of hatred from within, a condemning feeling towards the despicable espers. But he forced the feelings aside, instead turning his attention to the rock that signified Michals' grave.

Lieutenant Michals Bethon of the former Imperial Special Forces would rest for eternity here. Michals had been his best subordinate, both loyal and capable. He had been his closest friend. When suspicion had fallen on the ISF after General Chere's supposed treachery, Marcus had been one of the men under extreme scrutiny. Michals had stood behind with unwavering loyalty. When the ISF was broken up by Palazzo's orders, Michals had turned down a promotion and stayed with Marcus. When news that General Christophe was dead and General Chere had been kidnapped by the Returners, Marcus' request to rescue their General had been turned down. Before Marcus returned to their base, Michals had organized a platoon of former-ISF to go on the mission anyways. And when Marcus had decided to throw his lot in with the Returners, Michals had already been loading supplies onto the Blackjack.

Neither man deserved this, denied the dignity of a proper burial. Marcus would return one day and make sure both men were properly laid to rest.

"For the glory of the Empire," Marcus whispered. His fist went to his heart. Beside him, Siana did the same.

Then Marcus turned to Edgar, a hard look in his eyes. Fire light danced behind, casting shadows across a man marked by battle scars, physical and mental.

"Let's go."

---

They made their way to the stream with no problems. Sabin and Cyan managed to haul the litter with ease. It helped that Cyan's armor had been broken and he had tossed the chain mail for a leather vest. Otherwise, the older man probably could never keep up with Sabin's boundless endurance.

Locke led them quite well. He had traveled forests often in the past. Edgar pointed out the path from earlier that day and this time, they did not get lost.

The going was slow but nowhere as slow as they expected. Marcus kept pace with Relm despite his injuries. Strangely enough, Terra had volunteered to help Marcus. Siana had looked quite relieved. Edgar assumed that though the two shared common bonds, it was probably uncomfortable for her to be so close to her commander. Edgar had plenty of experience with authority intruding on friendships.

Meanwhile, Siana told them a story while they walked. A couple years ago, she had been deployed to Tzen. They were to catch a pair of thieves who had apparently stolen a Magitek armor prototype. Chasing the two men had been easy; they left a trail that even a child could follow through the thicket. After all, Magitek armor was not exactly easy to hide or sneak around in.

However as they got in sight of the stolen armor, the two thieves had attempted to use the prototype to defend themselves.

Cyan grimaced as Siana told them how the thieves had foolishly activated the armor. Sabin laughed as he remembered Cyan's attempts to pilot the armor while they escaped the Imperial camps so many months ago.

While the two men shared an inside joke, Siana explained that the thieves discovered how to use the prototype missile launcher. However, they had failed to aim properly and ended up detonating the missile inside the armor. Fortunately for the would-be thieves, the missile was not explosive.

Instead the missile had sprayed sticky white glue on the thieves. The glue had been designed to interfere with other Magitek armor and slow down large groups of enemy soldiers. Detonated at point blank with merely a single armor and two men near it, the adhesive worked wonders.

"When we returned to Tzen," Siana said, "we carted in a single Magitek prototype with both thieves stuck to the sides. The base commander was not exactly too happy about that since apparently, they didn't have anything to dissolve the glue with ease."

They shared a laugh, though it was not because the story was funny. They simply needed to laugh to relieve stress and frustration.

The rest of the trip was in relative silence. Terra and Marcus talked quietly; mostly Terra was concerned with his health. She was unsure of her grasp of the spell's mechanics despite Marcus' assurances that he felt fine. The loss of one arm was a pittance compared to his life and if she could heal his leg, then he would be more than in her debt.

Terra assured him that it was possible, especially with Relm's help. They just needed time to prepare.

"I always thought magic could easily mend broken bones," Sabin said. He looked back at Terra. "Seems like magic should be able to do stuff like that pretty easily, otherwise it wouldn't be magic."

Terra shook her head. "Strago taught me quite a bit in Thamasa. Healing has always been a challenge for them and there are some that dedicate their entire lives to learning how to heal," she said as she tightened the buttons on the tattered pieces of her brown jacket. "I'm trying my best."

"Weird, limits on magic seem to make it..." Sabin trailed off, watching his steps as he led the litter around a particularly thick root along the forest ground. Cyan followed, being careful as to not injure the two hurt men anymore than necessary. "Well," Sabin said as he cleared the obstacle. "It's just less magical, especially after seeing all that Gestahl or Kefka did."

Terra brushed a strand of hair aside, her green hair taking on a strange shade in the yellow-orange light of their torches. "Well it's just hard to heal. I'm trying my best," she repeated quietly.

"Hard to heal but easy to destroy, how fitting," Marcus said. The soldier steadied his single crutch. Since Terra was leading him, she did not see the look in his brown eyes. But the anger in his voice was not lost. "It seems obvious what magic is really meant for: death and destruction."

Terra looked to the ground, her mood darkening.

"It's not my fault," she whispered to herself.

---

They reached the river roughly around nightfall, although that was debatable since they couldn't see the sun set. Locke scouted the area with Siana and Edgar, finding a sheltered grove of trees that they could consider camp for the night. They felled a few trees for firewood but did not look very hard for sources of food other than the rations. Everyone was tired and running around in the dark with torches was dangerous enough already. So they ended up eating Imperial rations with a bit of dried fruit and meat for flavour.

When nearly everyone was finished eating and had begun to drift away, Edgar turned to the Captain. "Marcus," he said in between bites of jerky. "What do you think the situation will be like in Tzen?"

"Excuse me?" Marcus asked. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"Well," Edgar began, "Tzen will be the closest city once we manage our way out of this forest."

Marcus nodded. "There's a couple smaller villages nearby, but Tzen is the only city this far north," he answered.

"I wanted to know what you think would have happened in Tzen, considering the Floating Continent, the Emperor's death, and those beams of light..." Edgar trailed off.

Marcus looked around, noticing that only Edgar and Siana were paying attention to them now. Sabin had disappeared with a torch soon after he had finished his meal. Terra and Relm were discussing magic farther away. The Doma Knight sat against the trunk of a dead tree, his eyes half closed as he rested. He didn't see Locke anywhere.

Marcus cleared his throat. "Perhaps we should discuss this when we cross that bridge," he said. He did not feel right discussing anything about Tzen, whether Celes had trusted them or not. In the end they were Returners. They were nothing more than Rebels and he was still an Imperial soldier.

An Imperial soldier that had tried to kill the Emperor. That made them traitors, far worse than Returners.

Marcus banished the thought.

Edgar shook his head. "I want to know what we're getting into. It is public knowledge that the Emperor had broken the treaty after the disaster in Thamasa," he stated.

Marcus nodded his agreement.

"And even you were fooled into thinking that we had killed off Leo and Celes," Edgar continued.

"With the help of the Espers," Marcus added. "Yes, we were told that you Returners had betrayed us."

"Right," Edgar said. "Then I don't think going to Tzen, an occupied city, will exactly cause us to be showered with rose pedals."

Marcus sighed. "Tzen is not occupied. It's been years since the war and they're a province within the Empire now. The army's presence there is only for the protection of the citizens," he said. "We protect the people from the monsters and to secure the coast. Every so often, we'll even deal with petty crimes like thievery as well."

Edgar raised an eyebrow. "Do you really believe that?" he asked.

Marcus paused, judging his words. What game was this aristocrat playing here?

"What are you getting at?" Siana put in. She looked angry, although it might've been the fire light coloring her cheeks in disdain.

"Repeating lies adamantly does not make them true," Edgar stated quietly.

"That's ridiculous!" Siana nearly shouted. "Tzen wants, no-" she corrected herself. "They need us there. We've been requested to step in many times by the Governor," she defended. "At least three times that I know of personally."

Edgar narrowed his eyes, a wisp of a smile on his face.

"Siana, stand down," Marcus said. The one armed soldier stroked his unshaven chin. His brown eyes stared daggers into Edgar. "I admit, we've been fooled before by faulty information. Leave Siana out of this though, she's just a pilot. It's not like they get much news anyways." He didn't like anyone picking on his men.

Edgar nodded.

"What are you talking about, Marcus?" Siana asked, now thoroughly confused.

Marcus sighed again. "He's testing us," he answered. "We've been fooled before with covers over our eyes. Now that we see clearly though, he wants to see if we're still so blind to follow the things we're told. After all, selectively telling the truth works better than any lie." The soldier looked into their campfire, using his sword to turn over a log that had grabbed his attention. The orange-yellow light was becoming an annoyance to him; the light, tedious in its unchanging state, was damaging his sight. He paused, letting Siana think things over, before speaking once again. "You're right," he directed at Edgar. "There have been a couple cases of uprisings in Tzen and its surrounding villages... even the city of Ethelben had some problems. We've been told it was mainly due to the work of you Returners, but I'm not sure if that's entirely true anymore."

Cyan took a seat near Marcus. The conversation had caught his interest.

"Tzen has a commander, a General at that, who isn't exactly the kindest," Marcus further admitted. He paused and watched Siana find another seat further away, on the other side of the fire. "Officially it looked like a reward, but it does make sense that there's anti-Empire sentiment there, otherwise someone that prestigious wouldn't have been assigned such a position. I still think you Returners have had your fair share of meddling in things."

Edgar grinned. "I wouldn't admit to it. Figaro is still allied with the Empire," he said with a smile on his face.

"I suppose that's a joke I don't understand," Marcus retorted. The comment made little sense to him. "Either way, there's a substantial garrison in the city of Tzen itself and that's without mentioning the forces located on the coast and throughout the province. With the Emperor's death and General Christophe dead, then Palazzo..." he trailed off.

"Kefka is dead."

They turned around. Locke was leaning against a tree, listening into their conversation from a safe distance. The thief had his headband off and looked horrible in his bloodied white shirt. His blue jacket was missing as well; he had given it to Terra earlier.

"We don't know that," Marcus said. "No one liked General Palazzo, not even Nairne," Marcus nearly spat out the names; such was his hatred of them. Kefka and Nairne had ruined Celes' reputation and caused the mass execution of dozens of her loyal officers. They had even dared sentence her, though that plot had been foiled by the Returners. It was one of the few deeds that redeemed the Rebels in Marcus' eyes. "But he was insane and powerful, and without seeing his body, I don't tr-"

"I trust her! Celes would have finished Kefka," Locke interrupted. His voice was both strong and bold, hiding an underlying current of emotion that threatened to surface.

Marcus paused, his heart and mind fighting for a moment as he wrestled with his loyalty and cold logical reasoning.

"Enough of this speculation," Edgar said. With a few words, he defused the angst-filled situation between the two headstrong men. "Getting back to Tzen, you were talking about the commander there?"

"No, I wasn't." Marcus stroked his chin again. "Palazzo had positioned plenty of his loyal men throughout the Empire in positions of power. He wasn't much of a soldier, but he was good at internal politics. He played the House of Lords against each other and somehow retained the ear of the Emperor. He wrecked the careers of a couple more popular generals, even sending one to a pointless political appointment down in Albrook. Still, I didn't think he would go so far as try to execute General Chere..."

Edgar folded his arms. "Strange, for a mere Captain, you seem to know a lot."

"I am an ISF Captain," Marcus answered.

"So we'll be dealing with one of Kefka's lackeys?" Locke asked.

Marcus laughed, catching everyone off-guard. "No, most definitely not," he replied between chuckles. "General Danielle Meras is a decorated war hero." He saw the questioning look on Edgar's face. "Her actions broke the back of Tzen's Army," he gave them a toothy grin. "She conquered the Kingdom of Tzen a decade ago."

"So she's a bloodthirsty power-hungry Imperial. Well that just lovely," Locke grumbled from the side.

Edgar ignored the comment. "Gestahl is dead and his closest advisors are gone as well. And if I remember my stay at Vector, most of the high ranking folk were slaughtered when the Espers attacked. That means there's going to be a huge power vacuum. What do you think we're walking into?"

Marcus considered Edgar's question. "I can't say for sure. But I know one thing. There's no shortage of ambitious officers; wars tend to bring out those kinds of people," he sighed. He already knew the answer to Edgar's question. "In the past year, Palazzo's control of the Emperor's court wasn't well received by the upper brass. When that monster tried to kill General Chere, it probably sparked the huge reorganization that I found myself a part of. It's likely they were consolidating their power just in case."

"And now?" Edgar asked. "How likely would they use that power?"

"They'd never listen to the civilian leadership," Marcus replied. "That means several generals are commanding mobilized armies in a headless state, chaos and disorder..."

"No..." Siana gasped. She stood up, a look of shock on her face.

Edgar nodded. "I already thought about that. That's probably the worst thing that could happen," he said.

"You were leading me to that conclusion," Marcus accused. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Siana leave. He didn't like the idea of a civil war anymore than she did, but he didn't have any family. Siana still had her mother in Albrook. Marcus turned his attention back to Edgar.

"Perhaps," Edgar said, grinning again.

Marcus shook his head, not enjoying being lead around like a child. The grin on the nobleman's face angered him. "Alright Figaro. You want to know what I think will happen in Tzen?"

Edgar bit off a snappy response.

"Well, I'd say General Meras wouldn't lose control of the city. Her men are fiercely loyal, bordering on fanatical. They'll do anything for her," Marcus said.

"Sounds like someone I know," Locke said under his breath.

Marcus shot a glare at the thief before returning his gaze to Edgar. He stared across the fire at the King of Figaro, a man that was his enemy no less than a week ago. "She's probably locked down the area, mobilized her troops to take whatever supplies are necessary. Considering the Floating Continent, the beams of light, and now these dark skies, if she hasn't deployed every single Magitek unit at her disposal, mobilized the army and declared martial law, then I'm a flying chocobo. It might not have happened yet, but only an idiot would believe the Emperor could have survived on the Floating Continent when it blasted itself to pieces. So soon, very soon, Tzen will be swarmed with soldiers. "

"Outright mobilization. Great, just what I feared," Edgar commented. "Do you think she'll take kindly to us showing up?"

Marcus chuckled at the image that popped into his head. "She'll execute you on sight for assassinating General Christophe. And this time, General Chere won't be here to stop the attack," he said, reminding Edgar of a certain ambush. Just days earlier, Marcus and his men had sprung a trap that would have slaughtered Edgar and all his Returner friends had Celes not halted the strike.

"I wasn't planning on going toe to toe with Magitek armor," Edgar said. "What about you? You said you knew this Danielle, would she take kindly to you? We need to get medical attention for Strago and Setzer," he said.

Marcus shook his head slowly. "She wouldn't remember me. I'm might be a Captain in the ISF, but that's still far below her immediate circle. She'll just assume I'm a grunt that defected."

"Great," Edgar grumbled. "Just great."

---

When it was time to sleep, Edgar and Locke had taken the first watch while Cyan and Marcus had volunteered for the most brutal of the three, the middle one. Sabin and Siana had taken the last. Edgar was surprised when Marcus woke up on his own. He had grown used to waking the others when his turn was up. It was nice to work with another professional.

Edgar waited as Cyan slowly got to his feet. Marcus had limped his way to the other side of their camp, so they were alone and out of earshot.

"Cyan," Edgar said quietly.

Cyan had also woken up on his own, though less readily than Marcus. In addition, Edgar could see that Cyan was still tired. That was strange, as normally Cyan would be more alert than anyone else.

The Knight readjusted his sheathed sword before turning to meet Edgar's eyes. His eyes were red, more so than from just fatigue.

"Yes, Edgar?"

Edgar sat down on a log beside Cyan. He lowered his voice. "What do you think of our new allies?"

Cyan's hands were brushing against his tunic in a strange fashion. Edgar wondered what he was wrong. That kind of idle activity was something Celes would normally do, not Cyan.

"He is more than he seems," Cyan said after some thought. "Sir Marcus is a loyal soldier though, capable of thinking beyond the dogma of the Empire."

"So you like him," Edgar concluded.

"Do not assume such things," Cyan glanced over at Marcus. "He knows too much. I would be weary of trusting any Imperial soldier, especially one who is as free-speaking as he."

Edgar nodded. "Very well, then I believe this would be the best time to discuss Setzer."

"His loyalty," Cyan finished in a quiet voice.

"What do you think now?" Edgar asked.

Cyan sighed heavily as he folded his arms. "Setzer returned for us on that monstrosity. Were he still a spy..." he trailed off.

Edgar knew what Cyan was hinting at. They had discussed the possibility that Setzer had been an Imperial spy for a long time now. The two men had never believed the gambler could have been so easily convinced to help the Returners, not when he commanded an airship. Yet Setzer's actions had never been anything less than as a devoted member of their team. Even if his reasons were less than agreeable...

"I mostly agree, Cyan. It doesn't matter whether Strago and Relm were on the Blackjack or not, he still saved our lives when he didn't have to. Perhaps his motives are actually to woo Celes."

"Mostly... thy speech betrays thee," Cyan pointed out.

Edgar nodded. "I won't trust Setzer fully. The airship is a piece of technology that I can't believe Setzer built on his own. He's connected to the Imperials in some manner, and until we find out what that is, I'll always be suspicious. Just look at all these chests of Imperial supplies: rations, canteens, even blankets and clothes. All of it was on the airship even when he wanted the Blackjack to be as light as possible. It doesn't make sense!"

"It is indeed perplexing. I have not an answer to avail thy suspicions."

"I just wish Strago was around," Edgar sighed. "He always had something insightful to point out, something that I never saw even though it was right in front of my eyes. I grew used to his sagely advice Cyan."

"This mystery cannot be solved at the present."

"And he's done nothing but risk his life to help us," Edgar sighed. "You're right, I know. I'm just wasting my time."

"Very well," Cyan unfolded his arms and clutched at his tunic. "I believe we understand one another. He is a comrade-in-arms, and we shalt see to his expeditious recovery. I shalt take my watch now, Edgar."

Edgar nodded and watched him leave. Wearing little more than a ripped up tunic, Cyan looked nothing like a Knight of Doma. His back was hunched and the bandages about his wounds were soaked with dried blood. Streaks of ash and dirt covered what skin was unbandaged. At that exact moment, it occurred to Edgar that Cyan's armor -- one of the few things Cyan had brought from Doma -- had been broken in the crash.

---

The rest of the night passed by without issue as the watches were more than sufficient. Each had reported the same: the forest was utterly silent. There was no chase from the Imperial Air Force, no monsters to be fought off, no animals, birds... nothing. Edgar would have shared his concern about the bizarre quietude, but they had too much on their minds already.

There was no change in Setzer or Strago. Though it was good news in a way, it did not help their moods. Terra and Relm were the only ones to have slept the entire night but they still looked tired. Locke and Edgar put on false smiles for everyone else and hid their fatigue. Cyan was reserved as usual and Sabin was irritatingly energetic. He even looked fresh since the bandages that covered his burned skin had been redone, lucky for him to be on the same watch as Siana.

Marcus seemed better. He hid his disappointment when Terra told him nothing could be done for his leg yet.

They set out when everyone had woken and eaten. Torchlight lit their way as they followed the creek. The ground was wet and slippery. Dead leaves covered the lay of the land; a single slip and one might fall dozens of meters. The waterway tended to twist and turn through the thicket, at times sinking lowering into the ground and making it treacherous to follow. Terra and Relm had both fallen twice, Marcus once, before Locke decided they had to stray farther away from the creek. They had been lucky no one had been lost or hurt yet, but they couldn't keep taking chances. They all agreed; the dark forest deadly to travel through with mere torchlight.

The vegetation did not change in any perceivable manner, nor did the ground steadily slope downwards. Locke and Edgar quietly shared words with each other many times, pretending to calmly discuss their surroundings. However, a fight was boiling below the surface. Tension and frustration had grown high and the collision of two strong-willed men left a lasting grudge. In the end, they agreed to disagree. They would follow the waterway by sound and have faith. The creek itself was now much larger, almost a stream, and this was evidence enough for Edgar; they were heading on the right path.

Camp for the night was made a stone's throw away from the stream. They could hear the sound of water trickling close by as they ate, the only sound in the forest to be heard. Their dinner was far better than before. While they had journeyed through the dark woods, Siana had happened on a harvest of berries. After declaring them free of poison, the adventurers had gathered as many of the sweet berries as they could.

It was a small luxury that they could afford.

Later that night, Terra and Relm attempted to heal Marcus' leg. With a glowing blue aura surrounding the two girls, they wove practiced spells around the Captain for nearly two hours. It was quite a long time and those watching had grown tired of the light show.

Cyan remained silent, too silent in Edgar's opinion. But the King was not sure why the knight was so distant. Originally he had assumed it was the age difference. Cyan could pass as their fathers and in Relm's case, grandfather. Taking even that into account, it did not explain the quiet aura that surrounded the former retainer of Doma.

Locke watched Terra for the duration of the spell casting. He was the only one whose interest did not fade.

Green, blue and yellow sparkles of light spiraled around Terra's fingers as she laid one hand on Marcus' ankle. The blue aura around her had turned a warm shade of yellow as she whispered arcane words under her breath. A cascade of white light encircled Relm, whose eyes were closed and hands holding onto Terra's shoulders. The trees around them shone brightly and created a colorful rainbow of reflected light that pleasing to the eyes. It was a pleasing contrast to the monotonous torchlight that had been their only source of illumination.

Then the enchanted luminescence faded away. The forest returned to the orange-yellow flickering of their torches.

Yet as one source of happiness faded, another took its place. A cry of delight rang out in the silent woods. It grabbed everyone's attention with its unique tone. Rare was the sound of good cheer in these past days.

Marcus stood without help. He had one less arm, but two working legs. There was a big smile on his battle-scared face, one that was only outmatched by a joyous Terra.

"By the gods, it actually worked!" Marcus was saying. "I didn't really expect it to work, but it did!"

Relm cheered, "I knew we could do it."

Marcus swept the two girls off their feet, giving both a one armed hug.

"Congratulations," Edgar found himself saying. "And welcome to the club," he added as he rubbed the sling his arm was in.

Marcus laughed. "Maybe these miracle workers can help you as well," he said. "They did in hours what normally takes months."

Terra beamed.

Everyone shared in the celebration; Marcus had become a symbol that things would get better. They told stories around the campfire, sharing in rounds of jolly laughter as they tried to forget the past few days. Between Sabin and Locke, there were comedic stories aplenty. Especially since the two men had decided to start sharing stories of Edgar's rather tragic attempts at flirting with the opposite sex. The King was not too pleased about that development and subtlety nudged the stories to center around Locke's adventures. After Locke had amply embarrassed himself, he tricked Marcus into telling the next story.

In between bouts of laughter while Sabin declared he would tell them a story to upstage Marcus, Edgar noticed that Cyan had hardly joined in the fun. Yet there was a smile was on his face, almost hidden underneath his thick moustache. The King of Figaro grinned. He put an arm around the Doma Knight to make sure he would join in. No one would escape telling something embarrassing about themselves.

---

The village of Beckett was in the core of the Empire. Traders from Sellenger would stop in Beckett to stock up on supplies before traveling the narrow and often dangerous Anthony's Pass. People always wanted to avoid going around the mountains -- the Plains of Callaghan were too far to the south and the Gap of Reddenhurst too far to the northeast. Although the rockslides and avalanches of Anthony's Pass regularly claimed the lives of inexperienced merchants, it had been a toll that most were willing to pay.

Nancy was one of those rookies that had decided to try her luck with Old Man Anthony. She led a caravan of chocobo-pulled wagons, filled with foodstuffs that were now several days late. Nancy did not regularly deliver by this route, her produce typically arrived from Fanshaw and so safer to travel through the Plains of Callaghan. This trip was different, it was time-critical and her usual ten-man crew was accompanied by something else:

A squadron of Imperial soldiers.

The brown-uniformed men kept their torches high while they rode slightly ahead. Nancy's delivery had been deemed important enough to require a heavy guard. Even if Nancy wasn't as smart as she was, it would have been easy to guess why the Empire had suddenly sent her an escort. The dark clouds in the sky swirled at great speeds. People had gotten around to calling it the Long Night, and Nancy prayed to the gods that it wouldn't be changed to the Eternal Night.

"Lady," the Imperial officer at the head of the escort motioned for her stop.

Nancy halted her chocobo. She was at the head of the caravan, and the wagon drivers behind also reined in their chocobos. She got down from her wagon and hurried to the officer's side.

"Kurtfield, check ahead," the officer gave orders as he dismounted into a puddle of black tar. The foul stuff clung to his boots and the soldier cursed loudly.

"Dennis?" Nancy had taken care where she walked. She had been lucky enough to avoid the hellrains, but there were plenty of people that told her all about it. She shivered whenever she thought of those that lived through the black downpour. Nothing could remove that sticky stuff. It fell on trees, leaves, hands, even the skin. Their escort of soldiers had kept those afflicted with the hellrain far away. Many that had suffered through the rains had fallen to deadly sickness, or so the rumors suggested. Nancy wondered what the soldiers had been sent to actually guard them from.

Dennis turned to her. "Miss Nancy, right?" After she nodded, he pointed ahead. "The hellrain thickens past this point. Since we're coming close to Beckett, I think we should be on our guard."

"What's happening, Dennis? What should we be afraid of? This black stuff doesn't kill you," she pointed at the ground.

The soldier shook his head. "No it doesn't. But the hellrains only poured near where death beams hit. People near the death beams get sick, body and mind. You should get back to your wagons; we won't be staying in Beckett."

They stayed on the road for another hour until the soldiers returned. Nancy and her fellow drivers exchanged cautious whispers. A few had been brave during the sleeping hours -- that's what the soldiers called it since night meant nothing now -- and snuck away from their escort. They had talked to some traveling away from the cities near the death beams. Everyone had a different horror story to tell and Nancy couldn't believe most of it. Men whose skins had been completely burned off? Women had found themselves with blisters the size of balls all over their bodies? It just wasn't possible. Nancy had seen what fires did, it didn't make skin hang like rags from the bone.

"Miss Nancy," it was Dennis. He motioned at the drivers and they continued along the road finally. When they reached Beckett, Nancy didn't see any of the horror stories. The village was covered in hellrain and in the center a small group of soldiers were standing guard.

They dismounted there and Dennis told Nancy that none of the supplies in Beckett could be trusted. They would just have to take Anthony's Pass without fresh food; if necessary they would dig into the wagons.

"Where are all the villagers?" Nancy asked as she looked around Beckett. It looked like a ghost-town, completely deserted and covered with black, sticky tar.

Dennis shook his head. "Don't ask uncomfortable questions ma'am. You don't want to know the truth."

Nancy paled at the rebuke and hurried back to her wagon. The soldiers were just doing their job, she told herself. She pushed the questions from her mind and went over the checklist for the wagon. As she looked over the wheels, her eye caught movement in between two small shacks. Looking to make sure none of the soldiers were watching her, she snuck over to the pile of week old-trash and realized what she had seen.

It was the body of a man -- well she thought it was a man -- whose entire left side was burned away. The right side was a mass of purple, and on his face, his eyeballs hung out and his mouth was frozen in maniacal grin. The rags that covered his body were charred and at his leg-

Nancy backed away slowly. A weak scream had died in her dry throat as she stared into the wolf's deadly red eyes. It was big. Nancy wondered how she hadn't noticed the grey beast earlier. It was easily twice as big as she was, and its razor sharp teeth shimmered in the light of her torch.

Then the screams of the other drivers came from the wagons. The sound of swords being drawn were heard and desperate cries from the Imperial soldiers as they struggled against the pack of monstrous wolves. Nancy instinctively turned towards the sounds and saw dozens of grey furred beasts. Dennis and two other men had drawn their swords, striking several monsters down before they fell to the hoard.

Nancy started to run. She ran away from the wagons, away from the slaughter, away from Beckett. She dropped her torch at some point and couldn't even see where she was going. But it didn't matter, she just ran far from the sounds of her chocobos dying, far from the death cries of her fellow drivers and vicious growls of the monsters feeding. Nancy tripped and fell into the inky darkness. She vaguely realized that she had fallen off a cliff; the air was whipping past her face stronger than any wind she had felt. Though her heart was still pumping and blood pounding into her head, she felt an odd sense of peace.

Ten seconds later, that peace was permanent.

---

Edgar wiped at his brow with his one good arm. He could feel sweat dripping down his back. The forest was getting quite cold by the way their breath left mist in the air. Edgar pulled his coat tighter. He would be drenched in sweat, but if he didn't stay bundled up then he would get sick.

The last few days had seen them cover a lot more ground. Their meals were meager; the remainder of the gathered berries, some trail mix, and the Imperial rations. Everyone was more refreshed thanks to Edgar and Locke. The two had decided -- after a lengthy argument -- everyone needed extra rest. Their arrived conclusion was that Terra and Relm would dictate when everyone else would wake. Usually being on the last watch, they certainly had the power to make such a decree. No one complained. Only Edgar could tell time in the perpetual twilight.

They continued following the stream. In front, Marcus helped Locke search for a good route to ease Cyan and Sabin's injured charges. With two eyes out front, they covered more ground faster. The stream had grown large, rushing waters and a greater depth making it difficult to ford. Many times they had to search for a long way around when a tributary cut them off from the waterway that was their guide.

Muscles began to tire as another day wound to an end. It was then that Locke approached Edgar.

"The plants, have you noticed it?" he asked. He kept his voice low so that no one else heard. Hopefully, everyone else would assume they were discussing camping options as usual.

Edgar nodded. "There have been more and more dead plants, I did notice. It's the lack of sunlight," though he was quiet, he kept the same strong and confident tone.

"I hope it's just that. I have a really bad feeling about this," Locke grumbled before rejoining Marcus in front.

Edgar said nothing.

After camp was made, Terra and Relm worked yet another night trying to revive Strago. However, despite being better rested and a couple days of additional experience, their spells fizzled and deteriorated. The successive failures to help Strago finally took their toll and Relm broke down. While she cried in Terra's arms, the half-esper looked around for help. Around the campfire, there was little reassurance from the rag-tag band of warriors. They had never even given thought to having children, much less taking care of one who was devastated by her grandfather's deterioration. Each gave Terra a saddened look. They could fight to protect lives, topple regimes, and save the world, but they were powerless to reconcile a crying little girl.

That night, long after Relm had fallen asleep in Terra's arms, Edgar and Locke were on the second watch. Though most watches were quiet by their very nature, the two were busy in a heated argument. Locke was adamant that they were wasting time. Edgar disagreed. Even if they were wasting time, there were no other options available. The two debated whether they were headed inland or towards the sea. To that extent, they brought up the plants, the trees, even the color of dirt.

When their watch ended, Edgar got up and went to get Marcus and Cyan. Cyan was fast asleep and required a jab to the side before he would wake. Marcus was sleeping lightly and woke up moments after Edgar disturbed Cyan. The king went to sleep. He was genuinely angry at the thief. There was simply nothing else they could do other than to follow the river. Locke was more and more irritable as the days went by and it was getting on his nerves.

In the morning, their routine breakfast was not so routine for two reasons. The first was a ray of light. The clouds in the sky still cast their dark shadow upon the world, but there was light. It was little and wholly depressing; empty grey beams that filtered through the clouds, neither bright nor warm. Yet it was the first time that day actually seemed like day. Though they still required torchlight in order to travel, it was a heartening feeling.

The second reason was not so uplifting. They had found out when Terra checked up on Setzer.

The gambler had taken a turn for the worse. His breathing had become ragged and his pulse weak. Terra had no idea how long Setzer could last at that rate. Tzen was still far away even if they were near the ocean. Magic had failed so far and there was still the matter of Strago's even worse condition. Were they going camp for a day and let the two girls tax their abilities for a single slim chance? Even worse, were they going to have Terra and Relm choose who would die and who would live?

The choice was obvious; they would go forward and pray they were near Tzen.

The woods were getting colder but they still sweated. It was exhausting following the river, climbing over rocks, cutting through the thick bush and making their way around fallen trees. Fortunately, the deep thick mud that they would have to trudge through had frozen. Between that and the pale light, they made good time. So it was that in the middle of the day, Edgar's worse fears were realized.

The lush green vegetation had been covered with a putrid, smelling black tar. The further they walked, the foul stuff covered more and more of the trees. Soon the plants had disappeared. The grass beneath their feet thinned out and then replaced with barren dirt. The trees around them were nearly all dead, what had not been burned away was covered in the black tar. The ground became hard and ashes from fires were everywhere. They followed the river for a little while longer but everyone already knew the horrible truth.

The group found themselves at the edge of a cliff; unnatural as the ground had simply sloped away. The black waters poured over the side, as if it were following a path that no longer existed. It dived into a crater of hardened rock that was once molten lava, escaping from the innards of the world. Mist floated from the bottom of the crater, obscuring their view of the depths of the unnatural valley.

All around the huge crater, miles across, was the stench of death. Trees had been burned to ashes, the ground horribly defiled. It was the remnants of an inferno that had devoured everything in sight.

Their hearts sank along with the river. It was not the crater that was catastrophic, nor the death and decay around them.

Clearly visible, across the mammoth gorge, were the mountains of Tzen. Formidable peaks of towering rock stood between them and salvation for their friends.


	3. Dawn of a New World

**The Third Chapter - Dawn of a New World**

They were well ordered; line upon line, rank upon rank of gleaming military prowess. A small sample of the might of the Imperial Army, one rarely gathered such numbers in public since the disastrous display of might before striking Doma. Soldiers in shining armor, freshly polished to sparkle under city lights, were arrayed into neat squadrons. Their chain shirts shone beneath leather vests, clean-shaven faces underneath helmets that had been scrubbed a dozen times in order to remove the battle-grunge. These men stood tall and attentive, ready to die at the command of their General.

Danielle kept herself from smiling too broadly. It would do no good for her troops to see that she was actually content. Let them sweat; nothing caused more grief than imagined inadequacies.

General Danielle Meras prided nothing more than efficiency. Tradition should hold no sway in the army, especially in the life or death situations that so often plagued them. To that end she was dressed in a traveler's cloak, clean but tarnished from heavy use. Her boots were wiped but unpolished. Crimson hair that barely reached her shoulders was hidden beneath a simple green hat. Neither cape nor decorative medals adorned her. For any other high-ranking officer it was unthinkable, especially a General. For Danielle Meras, it was to be expected.

Her heels clicked together as she came to a halt. She spun to the side, her aide already holding out a small notepad for her. A slight motion of her head was all that was necessary to dismiss the assistant before she turned her attention to the second highest ranking officer in their midst.

"Major," she said in a crisp voice.

"General," Major Terrance Cassidy addressed her respectfully, disregarding her distaste of ceremony. In his heart, she had always been his General. Their sole commander; not Palazzo, not Christophe, not even Gestahl could override her orders. There was not a man under her command that did not share that sentiment. She sent them off to die, and they loved her ever more for it.

"Deploy."

Her word was final, her orders unquestionable. His fist pounded against the metal guarding his heart. "For the glory of the Empire!" he shouted proudly.

"For the glory of the Empire!" returned the cheer of three-thousand soldiers.

Terrance turned to the regiment that stood before them.

"Move out!" he shouted.

A small regiment of her army, truly hers in the days that had recently passed, marched their way north. Those standing guard at their posts watched as three thousand men, nearly a third of those on chocobos, began their journey. Squadron upon squadron, their rhythmic footsteps stormed past the outermost sentries of Tzen. It was grand gesture of power, one that might have been used to quell rebellions in the past. Yet these dark days had changed many an outlook. Where they might have once recoiled in fear, it was now a heartwarming sight.

Refugees that gathered around the city stopped in their tracks, their eyes wide in a mixture of admiration and relief, to watch the army leave. Men and women alike backed away as chocobos charged past. They had all come to Tzen for protection and now they saw a small sample of that protection, offered under the Imperial flag. The cavalry was in the lead of the formation, torches flying high in order to provide better lighting for those that followed. Foot soldiers, banners held high, marched proudly forth. Their boots met the cobblestone roads with drilled precision; each ordered rank filing past the disordered peasants without as much as a glance. That disregard was reciprocated by the hushed audience; all eyes were focused in the center. The foot soldiers were mere protective fodder for the true might of the Imperial Army.

Magitek armors, five hundred strong in ordered formations of five, strode in the center of that great formation. They were huge beasts whose footsteps thundered throughout the land, their sheer size dwarfing even guard houses. White light shone from each machination, lighting the path far better than the torches of the cavalry. Their black metal bodies blended in with the nightly shadows that covered the world, but sharp metal claws on each arm glistened in the presence of light. In battle, those floodlights would be turned off. For now, they served their psychological purpose.

Danielle watched it all until they were too far to see, hidden beyond the veil of darkness. It was proper for her to watch them head north. She had sent her men to bring order to those mountainous villages; too far away to flee to Tzen yet too close to ignore. All things considered, it was the only proper thing to do. The problem of monsters could not be ignored.

"Danielle."

She turned to face Colonel Farin Starson, one of the few that dared address her by her first name. He was almost similar to the General in his regard for ceremony. His cloak matched her simple style but he wore no hat. His hair was flat at the top, a buzz cut that was reminiscent of his late mentor. He didn't show any signs of exertion, though Danielle could tell by his clothes that he had run here.

"What is it?" she asked as she began to walk back. There were many other responsibilities to handle and standing around the city perimeter would not get those tasks finished.

Farin followed Danielle through the darkened streets of Tzen. The two men that were with them were handpicked -- her personal guards. They were accustomed to listening to the General's conversations, some highly classified, and were more than capable of keeping silent.

"We've verified the commands of the House of Lords and General Caleigh," he said.

Danielle knew Farin's style. He would never personally report such dribble unless it both shocking and important. "Who?" she asked. She cut straight to the point, depriving Farin of the little joy he had in reporting such matters.

Farin paused for a moment. He did not recall the name immediately, although he should have predicted that Danielle would see through his game instantly. "Anson Tilton," he replied at last.

Danielle frowned. "Him?" she asked in an incredulous voice. She was not one to often show surprise, but she was both amongst trusted friends and truly thrown off by this development. "He's a popular one," she murmured.

"Indeed. I would have thought the House too cowardly but this is an ingenious move," Farin remarked. "There is something else though."

"Lilienthal," Danielle scowled.

"Outside Maley's Point. Caleigh's not backing down. My men could barely believe what followed."

Danielle could only shake her head in wonder. "Then it's official," she mused.

"We already assumed as much, but yes, I guess it is official now," Farin replied. The four soldiers halted. The alleyway they had made their way through had opened up into the street and Danielle rarely drew attention to herself by interrupting traffic. The streets were busy even with the dark clouds above. Businesses did not grind to a halt; there was money to be made in dangerous times. The city lights made sure that everyone could work normally and the people did their best to pretend everything was fine in the world. "It took less than ten days," Farin mused quietly.

"Ten days? No, this has been brewing for months now," Danielle answered equally quietly. "This will be much less bloody than I had originally predicted. I suppose the Espers could be thanked for that, though I wouldn't admit that to anyone else," she gave Farin a meaningful glance.

"We were fortunate to have been delayed in the Mansfield, or else we would have also been in Vector during the disaster," Farin reminded her.

"I doubt it was happenstance. Either way, it's fortunate that Cassidy just left for the north," she said quietly. "While having a Cassidy would bolster our credibility, he and his men are too green." Danielle didn't need to state such things; Farin had already considered it and would have alerted her beforehand if it was crucial. The Colonel was quite reliable in that regard.

Farin nodded his agreement. "I'll take a division to the Gap," he stated.

Danielle narrowed her eyes. Those brown globes stared at Farin, as if by her will alone, she could discern the reasoning behind his sudden and strange statement. It was her place to command, not his.

They crossed the street now that the chocobo-drawn traffic had died down. Civilians gave them wide-berth despite not knowing who they were. They always avoided soldiers. Lack of visible rank was meaningless to them. They were always afraid of the army. Old grudges died hard in the city, and there was still the matter of martial law. Unlike the refugees outside, these citizens did not live in constant fear of the monster hoards. They continued their ignorant existence while maintaining a certain disdain for the men that protected them.

The four soldiers continued their way to the mansion that served as their headquarters. The busy sidewalks cleared a path for them.

"You're out line Colonel. Major-General Layton will be in overall command," Danielle answered after much deliberation. She watched his eyes for any sign of disappointment. If there had been any, he hid it well. She clicked her tongue while her mind scanned all the possibilities. "Go to Ethelben and alert Brigadier Keigwin. You will take command of the 22nd Division there. Do not disappoint me," she warned. Her voice was deadly calm, but the threat was no less potent.

"For the glory of the Empire," Farin stood tall and saluted, pounding the leather armor over his heart with great force. Danielle gave a slight nod of her head and then Farin turned back down the alleyway.

Danielle addressed her silent guards but never slowed down her pace. "Baldric," she directed at one. "Send the pigeons to Albrook and Maranda."

The stone-faced man nodded. The order was ambiguous but he knew his job. He only had to free the birds and they would deliver the news clutched in their talons. The letters were written well in advance for a situation like this.

After all, one did not go to war on a whim.

---

They ate dinner in silence. The day had not gone well and despite the possibility that the sky would finally clear up, no one could shed the sadness that gripped their hearts.

Edgar had verified their bearings. The rays of light had streamed through the cloud cover had been extremely weak, but with the entire day and little else to do, Edgar had figured it out.

The good news was that they did not waste the past ten days.

The bad news was that they had to cross the mountains ahead of them.

In the most ironic of ways, both Edgar and Locke had been right. They had been going the right way, except the right way was towards the mountains and into the highlands. Setzer had been an extremely skillful pilot and that skill might have cost him his life. The Blackjack had managed to fly past the Tzen mountain range and ended up sea-side. After all, they had been trying to shake off the Imperial Air Force and make their way back to Figaro. There was no way to reach Edgar's kingdom without crossing those heights.

Now those very same mountains stood in their way. The peaks were far too high and they were far too ill-equipped to attempt a climb. Yet Tzen was across those mountains. To turn northward and reach the ocean would take about two weeks and then another three weeks more in order to go all the way around. They could possibly cut two weeks off that route if they found chocobos. But that was not an option, they couldn't fight off Imperial troops if they got stopped and identified.

An outcropping of rock near the base of the mountain served as their camp. Sheltered safely beneath a ridge, they spent the night in restless slumber.

The next day was one of many trials. The clouds had grown thick again and what little light was available the day before was snuffed out. An unnatural mist had settled close to the ground. Simply seeing no more than ten paces ahead was now a difficulty.

There was also the matter of Setzer's deteriorating health. Even had the mountains been leveled and grassy plains replaced them, they estimated no less than a week's journey before they reached Tzen.

Marcus proposed the only possible solution. They would split up and scout the mountains for a trail of some sort. It was dangerous but also their best chance of finding a way through. Terra and Relm would stay at the campsite and do what they could for Setzer. Cyan would stay with them for their protection.

Despite the audacity of Marcus, who had proposed his plan much like he would give orders to subordinates, there was no dissention. They formed the two scouting parties quickly. Edgar, Sabin and Siana would be one group. The other was Marcus and Locke. These were the best teams they could create. Marcus had the best knowledge of the area while Sabin was the most familiar with mountains in general. The two men would lead their respective groups and hopefully forge a path through the lofty peaks.

---

It took them three days to find it. They scouted the mountains practically blind from the combination of fog and shadows. At any other time, they would have been ridiculed as lunatics. Instead, it was a courageous and heroic effort born of desperation.

Setzer was still alive, but his life hung by a thread. Terra had strained her abilities trying to save him. Some malady had afflicted Setzer, one that was not of his visible injuries. His heart was weak despite the gambler's fantastic physical health.

"I don't understand it," Terra crumpled on the ground. Sweat dripped off her brows from the repeated but futile efforts.

"He's very weak," Relm noted. "I guess we're just not powerful enough to pull him back."

Terra shook her head. "It's not that though, it feels like there's some kind of wall blocking me... blocking us," she picked up a pebble and tossed it in frustration. "Don't you feel the same way, Relm?"

Relm shook her head.

"Sometimes it's so close... I can feel the spell form at my fingertips. Then suddenly it just slips away without reason," Terra looked for another stone to throw; the first hadn't gone very far. "It's not as if I can't keep up with the spell's needs, I just..." her second stone flew deep into the mists.

"It's alright Terra, you'll find a way," Locke piped up. He finished his meal-in-a-can, their name for the Imperial rations, and put it aside. "We all trust you," he gave her a meaningful look.

Terra felt uncomfortable and turned away. "Maybe I was right the first time. Perhaps something it's a malady of the mind taking advantage of his sudden weakness. I don't know what could do it, but it could be possible," she mumbled.

Their rations were running low. What little they gathered from the forests before had long since been eaten. Now they faced the prospect of starvation within the week and had already begun cutting back. At least their water skins and bottles were full. They had filled everything that was water-tight at the river. It would soon be time to leave.

"What do you think of it?" Sabin asked.

Sabin had been the one to find the trail. It was overgrown but the marks on the ground showed that once, long ago, the trail had been in heavy use. It had been difficult to find because the highland ground was rocky and left hardly any impressions, regardless of how much traffic had gone by. Sabin's experience from living in the Kolt Mountains had been the only reason why they even found the chocobo markings.

It was the first thing that had gone right since they fixed Marcus' leg.

"I think it's an old trail, but these markings show recent use," the Captain said. He knelt down to examine the markings closer. "Maybe a month ago," he declared.

Sabin nodded his agreement. "I think it'll lead through the mountains. Chocobos can't fly or jump across chasms."

"Yes. As well... these black marks here," Marcus brushed aside a few weeds, showing the dark trails to Sabin. "They're old, but I think they're tire tracks."

Sabin looked at him quizzically. "It could have been anything," he said with a frown. "But if they were wheels, then that means the chocobos were pulling wagons."

"That makes sense. This could be an old trail that once fed the old mines around Tzen," Marcus mumbled.

"Old mines?"

"In the past, the Empire used to have quite a couple settlements deep in the Tzen Mountains," Marcus pointed south, but all Sabin could see was fog. "They were mostly on the southern-side, but some came up this far in order to search for treasures hidden in the caverns. A couple of those settlements mined for metals; gold and silver mostly," Marcus answered as he stood back up.

"I wonder why we haven't seen anything of the sort," Edgar mused. He stayed back and let the experts do their job.

"The settlements were abandoned a couple years ago by Imperial orders. I'm not sure why, really," Marcus answered. "It was a pretty strange order at the time, since some of the mines were bustling with business. The gold found here was of the highest quality, better than the mines in Rian or Fanshaw. It was soft and delicate, with high luster and polishable to a brilliant shine. There was high demand back in the capital."

"You know quite a bit, I thought you were just an officer, not a connoisseur of precious metals. Or is metallurgy also a part of the Imperial Special Forces education, along with military politics?" Edgar smirked. He was joking, but the questions were always on his mind.

Marcus had a distant look on his face. "I was stationed around here back in those days. There was always the problem of monster infestations harassing the settlements and we were the solution."

Edgar noted the artful dodge. "Alright, so do we follow this or not?"

"Of course we do. The Captain already said it leads through the mountains," Siana grumbled. "Discussion is a waste of time."

"Marcus could be wrong," Sabin snapped to Edgar's surprise. "Not everything he says is gospel."

Siana glared at Sabin and took a step forward aggressively. The height difference between the two made the situation almost comical. Edgar mentally sighed. Imperials... "Alright," he tried to sound decisive. He put a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Let's head back and tell the girls the good news."

---

Everyone was busy packing up their belongings and making sure they had the supplies necessary to continue their journey. The campsite they had stayed at for the past three days had treated them well; it had fresh water, some berries and other small fruits. Now it was time to prepare for a grueling march through the mountains of Tzen.

Edgar, being one-armed, had little to do and finished early. He sat down on an outcropping of rock that, two nights ago, Locke had declared his thinking stone. It would have offered a fantastic view of the crater they had passed, but the fog made that impossible and instead there was a wall of white mist. Far below, Edgar could hear the rumbling of water. It was quite relaxing; Edgar could see why Locke had decided to take all his watches here.

The King of Figaro took a deep breath. It was time to think unpleasant thoughts.

Edgar knew how long it would take them to get through the mountains. Setzer would not survive it, he was almost sure of that. The gambler's health was steadily getting worse. The man needed to be in an infirmary sleeping away his coma with nurses attending him. Instead, he was being carted around the mountainside in a makeshift litter.

Not that they could simply leave Setzer behind. As much as Edgar wanted to entertain the possibility, not everyone shared his distrust of the gambler.

Trust... Edgar frowned. Cyan had recounted their encounter with Gestahl and Kefka. It had appeared that Celes still had feelings for Gestahl. Had it not been for her immense hatred of Kefka, would she have betrayed them?

"King Edgar."

Edgar turned around. "Marcus, my fellow one-armed friend," he held out his hand. "Take a seat on the thinking rock, there's not much for men like us to do."

Marcus sat down. His legs hung off the side of the outcropping, perilously close to the edge. "Nice place. It's relaxing."

Edgar murmured his agreement and lapsed back into his thoughts. The two men rested in the peaceful silence.

Sometime later, Edgar turned to the Imperial Captain. "You know, I have a question for you."

"As long as it's an actual question and not an attempt to lead my train of thought," Marcus replied. He stared out into the wall of mist. "I would prefer silence than another lecture."

Edgar grinned. "No, this is just to satisfy my curiosity."

"Very well, ask."

"There's a rumor, one that I never verified. I was told that Celes torched Maranda."

Marcus's look darkened. "The General is likely dead in her attempt to rid the world of Palazzo. Why should we tarnish her memory with these rumors?"

"So the answer is yes?" Edgar pressed.

"That information is classified," Marcus responded.

"You're not exactly Imperial Special Forces anymore," Edgar pointed out.

"But you're still the King of Figaro, a kingdom that my country is at war with. I have had enough of this discussion," Marcus stood up.

"So she did. I feared as much," Edgar said softly as he turned towards Marcus. He was surprised to see that Sabin and Siana had shown up. The look on Sabin's face was dangerous. Edgar realized his brother had probably heard the entire discussion.

"Captain," Siana shot an angry glare at Edgar. "We're ready to leave."

Marcus ignored her. "King Edgar, you should know that until you wear her shoes, you should never judge hard decisions like that. Insulting her honor like this is something that is far below your stat-"

"Very good," Sabin interrupted. "Don't judge your superiors; they probably have a good reason. Just follow orders even if they're to murder children, right? After all, your General has to have a good reason."

"Everything is done for a good reason," Siana retorted.

"So you'll just trust your superiors blindly? What happened to your own morals?" Sabin growled

"Soldiers on the front can't see the big picture," Siana defended. "We have to trust the men that lead us."

"Even when killing children."

"That's ridiculous. The Army has never killed children. No one would do such a terrible thing."

"No? I suppose poison isn't killing?" Sabin sneered.

Siana's face went red.

Edgar felt goosebumps down his back. He had forgotten what his brother had seen in Doma. When the Emperor had invited Edgar to dine in Vector, he had discussed the poisoning of Castle Doma. Many within the Imperial ranks had reacted with total disgust, treating the topic as something akin to a low blow. They had already distanced themselves from Kefka's actions. Edgar could see the same reaction in both Marcus and Siana. He tried to think of something to say before the situation became ugly. The air was thick with tension and Edgar was afraid the conversation would come to blows.

"Are you seriously suggesting Celes is anything like Palazzo?" Marcus put his hand on Siana's shoulder and put himself between her and Sabin. "That's an idiotic statement and you know it. She fought and bled beside you, fighting for your ideals and-"

"She fought for her own ideals," the deep authoritative voice of Cyan cut through the air. He stood on the path leading back to the camp with his arms folded. "And you're right Captain," he said with contempt. "She always fought and bled beside us, but never with us." His words reminded everyone of Celes actions in the Magitek Factory, in Thamasa, and on the Floating Continent. Like his blade on the battlefield, Cyan had defeated his opponents with a single blow.

Marcus was silenced, but he shook with rage at how people were disrespecting the memory of his dead general. Siana had retreated behind her Captain. Sabin had relaxed and gave his friend a respectful nod.

Cyan turned away from them. "We have been ready to leave for a while. Let us go."

---

Following the chocobo path was demanding. It took the combined skills of Edgar, Locke and Marcus to keep them on the path. Marcus was quite used to the area thanks to his previous experiences. He caught on to many places where the trees had been marked by careless drivers, or the weeds and grasses seemed to have been parted aside. At times, the trail would pass vast stretches of hard rock and took hours to pick up again. Fortunately, Locke's sharp eyes allowed him to pick up on what Edgar and Marcus could not in the expanses of smooth bedrock. Other times the route was plainly visible. It climbed sharply in some places, making it all but impossible for Sabin and Cyan to safely carry the litter through. They were walled in on both sides by jagged ridges and rocky hillsides. The woods around them grew ever thicker, the darkness making it next to impossible to make out sudden turns that the path took. As mist drifted in and settled inches above the ground, Edgar took over. He had a strange instinct for knowing how the trail would twist and turn. He could predict the sudden detour around dangerous pitfalls hidden by the mist. A couple times they nearly fell as a group because of sudden drops but were saved by his premonitions.

The worse came when the trail disappeared and each man arrived at a different conclusion. They shouted and argued louder than safe to; Locke and Edgar had not been getting along well and the addition of Marcus and the ever-faithful Siana led to some very heated exchanges. Twice Sabin had lowered the litter and pitched his own opinion, and Cyan had even stepped in to break up an argument because the profanity was too much for Relm. Their work as team should have smoothed over ruffled feathers from the argument earlier in the day, but instead disagreement had only made things more difficult. Sabin and Marcus were at each other's throats, Edgar found himself cursing Locke repeatedly, and things had gotten really ugly when Cyan stepped in. Only the girls had managed to avoid arguing. Edgar could understand why Terra and Relm weren't involved, but for Siana to break her habit of defending Marcus, that was truly strange. Confronted with such evidence, Edgar had no choice but to admit it must have been some sort of male competition.

Still, if it were not for the three dedicated men in front, they would have lost the trail and ended up stranded well before the end of the first night.

They camped in the gloomy woods. The fog covered them like a blanket and not even the campfire could drive it away.

Edgar sat, leaning against a cold rock, huddling in the freezing woods. The tattered remains of a cloak were wrapped tightly around him as he counted the seconds before his watch would end. He glared at Locke's back. It had been years since anyone had gotten under his skin so effectively. Edgar reproved himself. It wasn't Locke's fault, they were all getting frustrated and everything had worked out in the end, hadn't it? Edgar was a diplomat; he could handle a glorified thief.

So why was he so angry?

Locke threw another log onto the campfire, now burning weakly from neglect. He didn't even make eye-contact with Edgar.

Shaking his head and standing up, Edgar walked over to wake Cyan and Marcus. Cyan woke up with a quick jab, his eyes focusing quickly on the King. Edgar turned to Marcus, who took a couple shakes before he woke.

Edgar went to sleep, listening to the sound of running water nearby. He wondered if it was just his imagination, as he did not hear the sound during his watch. The peaceful sound lulled him into a deep sleep and the next day came faster than Edgar wished.

It was not just a dream though. They came upon the rapids, its waters thick with the black tar, only an hour from their campsite. The chocobo trail led to a single wooden bridge, one that looked old and rotten. Edgar noticed that there was something strange in the way it swayed. He held up his hand to stop the party from crossing.

Locke had the same thoughts in his mind as he checked the supports of the bridge.

The two men had taken over scouting for the path. Marcus looked extremely tired and had contributed little over the past hour. He had been in the lead and missed a couple obvious signs when the path forked. Even stranger, Marcus didn't make excuses as he would have the previous day. Edgar and Locke had decided to pick up the slack and let the Captain rest.

"Looks like the supports are chewed up; I don't think it could bear the weight of a chocobo. There's been too much water from the rapids. It's been splashing at it constantly and speeding up the rot," Locke analyzed.

Edgar nodded. "Considering the massive explosions we saw, the rapids are probably stronger than they should be. Entire mountains were removed by those blasts and the firestorms consumed all the vegetation." He was glad that they were talking again as friends.

Locke whispered a few words under his breath. Yellow light tipped his fingers as he enchanted himself.

"Right, you can float us across the bridge," Edgar remembered.

Locke nodded as he continued to cast his spells. They were sparkles of magic that affected the weight of a person so that he could almost glide through the air. He had used it before to safely land on the Blackjack, saving him and Terra the great deal of pain that everyone else felt from the landing. Now he used it again so that they could cross the bridge with relative ease.

Edgar felt a little dazed. The magic was a spinning sensation and his balance appeared to be a bit off. However, he did feel lighter.

He walked across the bridge without it collapsing. The magical disturbance faded away as he waited for the others. Everyone crossed one at a time; they did not want to test how strong the bridge truly was. When Sabin and Cyan crossed with the litter, Edgar held his breath. The four men were last to leave since they had the heaviest burden. The bridge held up with some cracking noises, but the two men ignored the sounds as they crossed slowly and safely.

When everyone was once again on solid ground, Locke set the bridge aflame with a spell he learned from Ifrit. They could not leave the bridge in the deceiving condition it was in.

As Edgar turned away from the bridge, now being fully devoured by unnatural fires, he noticed Marcus acting strange.

"Float spells are still messing with your head, aren't they?" he asked Marcus.

"Yeah," the Captain replied. He massaged his temples, "and..."

It was all too fast for them to predict. No warning, no strange movements. All of a sudden, Marcus' eyes unfocused. His posture suddenly undone, the man dropped to the ground with an audible thump.

Terra let out a surprised scream. Relm jumped up in fright. Sabin and Cyan both checked their surroundings quickly, looking for any sign of an enemy. Seeing nothing, they relaxed... but only slightly.

"Marcus?" Edgar asked, his eyes growing in concern.

Locke bent down, quickly checking for a pulse. He felt around the wrist for a moment and then proceeded to turn Marcus onto his back. The Captain's face was white. Locke checked under the eyelids.

"We have a problem," he said grimly.

---

The monsters had become extremely bold as of late. They had begun leaving the confines of the mountains and attacked any village they could find. It was mind-boggling as to why they had suddenly become so aggressive. In the past three days no less than twenty villages had been torn apart. Others had been under constant attack and were now barricaded against all outside contact. Many had given up the fight and left for larger towns.

Major Terrance Cassidy felt a certain pride in driving this latest menace away. General Meras was absolutely correct in deploying his regiment. They were lacking experience, but fighting monsters was nowhere as harsh on the mind as fighting other men. It would prove to be good experience as well as making them feel warm and fuzzy inside.

Troop morale was at an all time high.

Despite the dark skies and constant nighttime environment, his men had accomplished their objectives marvelously. Green's Mill and Needham, the largest towns in the area, had their small garrisons reinforced and defenses erected. Chocobo riders had been sent to gather numbers and establish a reconnaissance net around their base of operations in Cartha. Small squads, consisting of ten on foot and two armors each, were sent to relieve villages that had barricaded themselves. A couple platoons were currently headed deeper into the woods. They would clear out the greatest danger: packs of wolves called Lunaris. Those wolves had been the smartest of all monsters; they gathered only in great numbers and their swarming tactics alone had overrun at least five villages. Terrance had heard rumors of more, but he waved them aside as little more than scared ravings.

Terrance leaned back against the rickety wooden chair inside his command tent. It was quiet outside, even though business was flourishing. After all, Cartha was the biggest town in the area. It was a source of booming trade due to its envious position; the town was nearly on top of tributaries to the great river Zarren, which would pass Tzen and empty into the bays of Ethelben. It even had a large garrison; one that had been heavily diminished in the recent days. They had fought against dozens of mutated toad creatures and monstrous grasshoppers. Its commander, a Captain of little note, had been killed in a skirmish just hours before Terrance's scouts arrived.

His second, Captain Godric Waldgrave of the Magitek Corps, flipped through pages of reports. Maps of the area were strewn around the command tent, blue pins sticking out of positions that their troops had been deployed to. Red pins labeled areas where monsters had clustered around, though those were rarer and rarer with each passing hour.

"I've been thinking," Godric was saying as he laid down his notes. "I don't buy the silly superstition going around. The monsters aren't more active than usual because of the longer nights; they sleep just like we do."

Terrance nodded his agreement although he was uninterested in the topic. He read through an interesting report of bandits. Thieves had been caught pillaging one of the villages, Little Pine according to the notes, that had been trampled by a pack of Lunari. Grave robbers, he hated grave robbers. It was utterly despicable; stealing from the recently departed.

"In fact, there's only one thing that really affects monsters," Godric continued unbidden. "Weather. I wonder if the colder days are making the monsters flee to the south. Birds migrate when the winter comes," Godric pointed out.

Terrance yawned. He scribbled a note to send a couple more squads into the area of Little Pine once the Lunari were reduced a bit farther. Now for other matters, like the waterway that had been an abode of loathsome harpies. Those bird-like monsters had been harassing river travel. Without the river it was difficult to send supplies north. That meant his men were restricted to the region around Cartha. If they planned on making any more progress towards the mountains, they would have to extend their supply line to -- Terrance looked around the map -- Nestil.

"But then I thought about it. Birds fly north, not south, when winter comes," Godric continued. "It just doesn't make sense why the monsters would start flocking south when it gets cold."

"It's a puzzle that won't be solved. Stop thinking about it," Terrance grumbled. "And don't we have any newer maps? The ones we're working off of are outdated, considering that squad one-fifteen ran into a river," he pointed at a blue pin on the map, "where there isn't one."

Godric shook his head. "The maps are as up to date as we can get. You saw the death beams that shot out from the floating island. They remade the world into a new hellish image. I've got reports of new valleys and canyons, huge swaths of forests turned into a field of ashes," he flipped through a pile of papers. "Look at this one: river is dry, traced it back to landslide estimated at size of city," Godric shook his head. "Our magical destiny doesn't seem so desirable," he whispered under his breath. He took care not to let his commander hear his treasonous words.

Terrance pushed the report away. "Send a messenger to have one-twelve and one-fifteen follow this river to the source. Take this old path," Terrance pointed out a trail that led to an old mine, deep into the mountains. "The birds concern me; we don't have any air cover and not enough archers for cargo ships."

"I can go personally," Godric suggested. He was one of the most veteran officers under Terrance's command. Godric had served during the Doma war, piloting a Heavy-Siege Armor despite the rocky terrain that plagued Southern Doma. It was a ridiculously difficult task to maneuver such a large and unwieldy machine in anything less than smooth grassy plains. There had been many an accident even on Vector's cobblestone streets while transferring those siege units. With such skill, the pilot had been rewarded with multiple medals and his own task force.

"No, that's not necessary," Terrance said. "If birds attack more often as we get farther upstream, then I'll send you and your unit to cleanse their nests. Until then, we sit tight."

Pacifying monsters, it was something Terrance hadn't done for years. He grinned. This wasn't a campaign to invade a country, but it would serve to showcase his talents. A promotion was certainly within his grasp and all he had to do was defeat an enemy incapable of tactical thoughts. His father would be proud.

---

As they climbed steadily higher, cold winds had swept the mists away. Frosts covered the rocky trail and snow wouldn't have looked out of place. Terra huddled against a piece of jagged rock, blankets wrapped around tightly as she shivered uncontrollably. It was not the temperature; she had long since been numb to the elements.

She stared blankly ahead, her eyes red from crying. They were quite high up. By following the trail without question through the mountains, they had found themselves on one of the peaks. It was a steady climb that had taken most of the day before, but at least they were headed the right way. The path wound its way around the mountain steadily and they had found shelter within a depression in the cliffs. The view was quite stunning from where they camped. Below them the lands were wooded until it suddenly broke into an expanse of gentle rolling hills. They could see quite a distance and although no villages could be seen, Edgar had guaranteed no more than three days of walking.

Three days of starvation was what Edgar promised. They had finished off the rations they had, despite stretching the food as long as they could. Relm had been the only one to have anything to eat for supper that night; everyone else had gone to sleep on empty stomachs.

Unprompted, Locke suddenly appeared beside Terra. He was quiet, simply sitting next to her and saying nothing. She wanted to ask him why he was bothering her, but she simply didn't care enough.

For a long time they sat beside each other, silent. At last, Locke spoke up.

"You know, the first watch is for me and Edgar. You're stealing our thunder," he joked.

Terra stared blankly ahead.

Locke pursed his lips before sighing. He watched the mist from his mouth dissipate in the night air.

"It's not your fault," he said.

Terra blinked away the inevitable tears. She gave Locke an angry glare and began to speak. She quickly cut herself off though. Her voice was probably weak and she did not trust herself to say the right things.

Terra could see it in his eyes. His words said it was not her fault, but his words were lies. Not even the look of worry could fool her. His eyes betrayed him, no matter how concerned he might look. He blamed her.

She had killed Marcus.

Her. No one else. It was her fault. She was directly responsible for it.

Terra bit her lip. Marcus had been right all along. She was simply an instrument of death -- a killer. Her efforts at healing had failed horribly, but it had been easy to take the lives of hundreds of soldiers.

The spell used to wake Marcus had never been right at all. Magic was often dependant on the emotions of the user; that much she had known all her life. However, all the ways Relm had taught her to calm her feelings in order to heal had failed miserably. Hours of effort to mentally prepare for a single casting, flawed at the very core. A single malignant seed had tainted all her curing spells.

Marcus had been living on borrowed time the moment she had touched him. Her spell had woken him at the cost of his life-force. It weakened him with each passing day, keeping him conscious at the greatest of costs. Everything she had done had been wrong. Corrupt and tainted, spells that feigned benevolence had sapped and drained the poor soldier until he could move no more.

The spell to heal his leg had only sped his race to the grave. Relm had helped her cast that time, but she had been the principle weaver. The spell she wove was directed by her alone, no one else.

It was her fault.

They did not know, could not have known! Marcus had seemed so alive, so vibrant. How could they have guessed that something was eating him from the inside? How could they have known until he collapsed from the emptiness within?

Terra gritted her teeth. Her eyes watered with renewed tears.

She should have known. She could have saved him. She could have changed the spell. Perhaps she could have woven a patchwork; a net to catch him if he fell. Perhaps...

Marcus had laid on his back, his eyes open after Terra's spells had brought him back to consciousness. They had hardly moved from the bridge, the sound of rushing water was still easily heard. Terra had done everything at that time after realizing the extent of the corruption in her original curing spells. Even with all her power though, she could do nothing more than bring the old soldier awake for his last moments.

She had not told him the truth. Marcus had gazed into her eyes as he died, still trusting in her abilities as a mage.

"It's ok," he had breathed. "I trust you."

He trusted her, and she had killed him.

She didn't even have integrity to tell him to his face.

"Terra, it's not your fault," Locke said again.

Terra snapped out of her thoughts. Her eyes focused. She was back on the mountain now, breathing in ragged gasps as tears ran down her cheeks. Terra did not know when she had started to cry. She tried desperately to hold the tears back and looked around. Locke was still there, that fake look of concern on his face. Why did he put up such a charade?

"Stop lying," she managed to say. Her voice was no more than a whisper, hoarse and cracked. Terra avoided Locke's brown eyes. How could he look at her after what she had done?

"Terra-" Locke began again.

Her eyes grew wide, a sudden surge of anger raging through her veins. "I said stop it!" she snapped, enraged. Terra surprised even herself with her sudden outburst. She was absolutely infuriated with him.

"You don't understand," her voice grew weak again. "You don't know what it's like -- to be a child of death."

"You're not a child of death, stop saying silly things," Locke said.

Terra stared across the fields of Northern Tzen. "Death and destruction, that's all magic brings," she whispered quietly. "Magic destroyed the world a thousand years ago and now magic has destroyed the world again; all because of me."

Locke was silenced at last by utter surprise at her words. He looked at her in hopelessness, unsure of what to say.

Her eyes, those beautiful blue globes, turned to meet his eyes. In them was a mixture of anguish, suffering and guilt reflected from the depths of her soul. The breath caught in his throat as he struggled to remain afloat in the angst that drowned her.

"Just leave me alone," she whispered.

And he did.

---

The past four days had not gone well for Terrance Cassidy. He struggled to maintain his calm, a measured degree of coolness in a situation that would enrage any other. After all, five squads had gone missing. It was a mystery that was deepened by scarce reports and contradicting data; one that had to be solved immediately.

The Lunari problem had been resolved. Hundreds of the wolves had been wiped out by his men. Large wolf packs had attacked his squads en masse, but his soldiers, green no more, had torn the monsters to pieces. Despite being outnumbered, Magitek and superior combat tactics had led to the decimation of the monster threat in the southernmost regions. Cartha was now completely secure, as were the eleven other villages within two days march. Terrance had thought about moving command farther north, but the ease of resupply at Cartha had swayed him otherwise.

It would have been easier to move his base deeper into the forest if their maps were still correct, he thought. If only the world hadn't been rearranged by those death beams, Terrance thought as he gritted his teeth. He knew there was some truth to the rumors that the Floating Island had been the fault of Emperor. How many speeches had he sat through, listening to the old man speak of their magical destiny and the revival of that ancient force? Terrance had been unmoved by the words; he was a nobleman and such sophistry did not affect him.

His father, Lord Cassidy, had always been weary of the Emperor's obsession. It was treasonous to voice such thoughts, but they were nobles. Terrance had grown up under his father's tutelage and knew that things were not always as they seemed. The Emperor was not a god. He made mistakes and the Floating Continent had been the greatest of them all. Now the Emperor was dead and his subjects would have to live in a world forever scarred by that man's hubris.

Terrance turned his attention back to the monster pacification. There were more pressing matters to think about than the dead Emperor. He had lost nearly sixty soldiers in the far north. Originally, the action was hot throughout the forest. Beasts had roamed the forest at random until his regiment had secured the area. Now there was a wall of monsters between them and the mountain range, a curious development to say the least. Though the subject had annoyed and irritated him earlier, he found himself also wondering why the monsters were clustered so far south.

He had sent a couple squads farther north. They were to backtrack and tear apart clusters of the beasts from behind, or to scout close to the mountains. Those men had brought important news. In particular, squads that he had sent along the new river had reported discovering a couple more villages that were in desperate need of defense. Terrance had sent relief in the form of nearly two hundred men. He had even included Captain Godric Waldgrave and his Magitek squadron. Aside from defending and pacifying the monsters so far north, he had wanted Godric to hunt down the monstrous birds that harassed them. Their nests had to be farther in the highlands. As long as Godric was in the area, the nests could be found and destroyed within a day or two.

So once again, he found himself staring at the lists of missing squads. All of them had been lost near the base of the mountain range; they had not been cleared to go deeper into the Tzen Mountains. Most of the men lost had been inexperienced recruits. They had been recently trained for relieving the Doma and Figaro occupation forces. He had expected a few casualties since they had essentially been prepared for simple police work. However, the loss of the Magitek pilots could not be so easily overlooked.

Magitek pilots were a rare breed. They were both experienced and extremely intelligent. Losing them to mere beasts was almost incomprehensible. Admittedly, most of the armors included were merely Light-Patrol Class. Equipped primarily for speed and agility, they were lacking any serious long range capabilities and relied on mobility and cover. They were nothing like the All-Terrain Class Armors that were the backbone of the army. Still, such weapons were designed for mountainous terrain. How could a few monsters tear apart his superior forces?

Terrance sighed. He began to write his report to General Meras. She would not be happy, but he needed more reinforcements. Whatever could tear apart that many squads had to be dealt with. However, he could not devote the manpower to deal with the threat as long as he had the villages to defend. Thus he needed more men. Perhaps a couple heavy armors, although proper deployment in the wooded and rocky terrain would be a near impossibility.

He finished the letter and slipped it into the talons of a messenger pigeon. The bird quickly took flight and Terrance found himself wondering about the monsters again.

Godric had assumed the monsters were trying to migrate south. It made little sense, but that's what the facts showed.

Terrance blinked twice. He had a strange thought: what if they were afraid of something?

One of his Lieutenants handed him another stack of reports. Terrance dismissed the man and returned to his command tent. His wondered if it could be true; that the monsters were fleeing to the south to escape a terror.

But what could scare monsters?

---

"It's been abandoned for weeks," Locke announced.

They were gathered around a small cottage lit by flickering torchlight. It had been located a short walk from the trail that had led them through the mountains, a small path that had been hidden between berry bushes. Sabin had been the one to notice it, Locke and Edgar had already walked past in haste.

It was the first sign of civilization they had seen in nearly three weeks. The cottage was small; no more than a walled room with a roof and chimney. Dead leaves and rotting needles had hidden the well-worn path from their view. Spiders had been very active, stringing their silky webs all around the abandoned house.

Locke had emerged with his face covered with sticky threads. He had gone around back to make sure they did not miss anything. "There's some old firewood, chopped up, lying in a nice pile back there," he was saying as he peeled the spider webs off his face. "I'd say whoever lived here was preparing for the winter."

Edgar looked at the house. It did not look abandoned so much as forgotten. Personal affects were still visible through dusty windows, and tools were laid around the front. "I'd say the owner took a short walk and never came back," Edgar concluded.

Locke was checking the door and jiggling the handle, while Edgar bent down to examine some of the tools on the ground. There were a couple rakes, weed cutters, and a hoe. Whoever had lived here had all intentions of returning, but simply never did.

"The chances of the owner's return are slim," Cyan spoke up. "It is prudent to gather what we can."

As much as Edgar hated to admit it, Cyan was correct. They might be stealing, but they had little to eat in the past week. His last real meal had been nearly six days ago. That was back when they had just begun to climb the mountains.

Edgar looked around. Sabin stayed far away from the abandoned house. He had no interest and simply watched over the litter. Siana was even further away on the trail, distant and unresponsive to all. Terra was holding Relm's hand. There was a fake smile on her face. All around there were no disagreements with Cyan. The old knight spoke little enough in recent days and when he did, it was usually to point out a course of action.

The young king kept himself from thinking about the hopelessness that had gripped his friends. After Marcus was buried -- Edgar laughed pitifully, they had barely been able to do that much thanks to the rocky ground -- they had gone from hopeful and lighthearted to grim and mournful. Even his mood was unavailing, but he was the leader here. He could not let the pain show through; that had been done during the funeral in the mountains. As well, he had enough problems without succumbing to his own emotions. Locke had shared his concerns about Terra. Those concerns were now Edgar's problem, although he had tried to ignore them.

Locke cheered as he unlocked the door. He slipped inside and took care not to harm anything with his torch. A brief glance about and then he yelled at Edgar and Cyan to help him.

The inside of the cottage was as Edgar expected. An unmade bed was in the corner. There was a small fireplace with logs beside it, a tiny round table in the center with two chairs, and various cupboards against the walls. It was a modest home. Someone had lived much of their life here, even though he was isolated from the rest of the world. It felt cozy and comforting despite the poverty of the former owner.

"Let's get what we need and leave. I don't feel too good doing this," Edgar said as he swallowed the lump in his throat.

Locke nodded. "This is pretty low, but I'm not letting Relm starve."

Nor Terra. Edgar could see the concern edged into the treasure hunter's face. Those unspoken words carried more weight than anything Locke might have said.

They began to take what they could. The former owner had been preparing for the coming winter and had a great deal in non-perishables. There was plenty of salted meats and canned vegetables, biscuits galore and even a couple jars of creamed honey and jam.

After filling their three packs, Edgar went outside. He grabbed two more packs and threw them to Locke and Cyan. They couldn't fill all the backpacks they had, but it would be enough to last them at least two weeks.

As he waited for Locke and Cyan to finish, Edgar stood outside and stared up at the sky. The clouds seemed thinner, in his opinion. They had been very lucky to discover their bearings earlier, as no light had filtered through the following week.

He noticed a strange expression on Terra's face. Her eyes were darting about wildly, looking up at the sky at random intervals.

"Are you alright?" Edgar asked her.

Terra looked frightened. Though it was a welcome change from her usual despondent face, it was not a good sign. She let go of Relm and began to search the skies.

"Terra?" it was Sabin who was worried this time.

"Blow out the torches," Terra said. Her voice was ragged and raspy, she had not spoken much for the past few days, but the abruptness of the order confused everyone.

They watched as Terra let go of her torch. She stamped out the fire and then turned to Sabin and Locke. "The torches!" she shouted in a panic.

Her sudden frantic mood was odd, to say the least. Locke had put out his torch as quick immediately, but the others did nothing. A moment passed before Relm suddenly grabbed Siana's torch and snuffed it. Seeing the look on the girl's face, Sabin finally relented and put his out as well. It was not difficult for them to light torches with magic, so they could afford to entertain Terra's eccentrics.

As their eyes adjusted slowly to the darkness, Edgar spoke up. "What's wrong Terra?" he asked.

"Quiet," she breathed, "can't you feel it?"

Edgar raised an eyebrow. He waited for a moment before realizing that Terra probably couldn't see him.

"Feel what?" Edgar asked, quietly this time.

They waited for an answer in silence but neither Relm nor Terra said anything. As Edgar's patience ran razor-thin and he was ready to demand a response, he heard something strange.

It was the sound of rustling leaves that grew ever stronger. Edgar glanced upwards into the sky, the outline of the canopy creating on a small window in which he could see the clouds above. Closer the sound came until suddenly, the window into the sky disappeared. A dark shape screamed past them, great wings that could be seen spread out widely as it flew past mere meters above them.

A powerful blast of wind followed with a great booming sound; leaves, dead or alive, blew past them in a torrent of stormy gusts. Edgar closed his eyes, it was not like he could see much with them open, and tried to keep the uncomfortable memories of the Blackjack from surfacing. His ears rung from the intense noise and the currents whipped his face without remorse.

Then all was calm, except for the weakening sound of rustling leaves. Edgar brushed at his face. There was a sticky trail left behind. He looked at his hand in displeasure; some manner of dead vegetation had gotten stuck.

"What was that?" Locke's voice quivered as he spoke. He was first to break the silence, unable to keep quiet any longer.

"I don't know," Terra answered. "I felt its presence though. It was coming at us incredibly fast. Every fiber of my body was screaming danger."

Edgar lit a small flame in his hand. "For a bit of light," he explained. "But I'm still too frightened to relight our torches," he added sheepishly.

In the weak flickering glow of firelight suspended over Edgar's palm, they all saw the terror on Terra's face. They had been scared by the shadow as well, but they did not feel what she felt. Even in the past, Terra had extraordinary senses whenever something magical was suspect. Celes had showed the same aptitude when felt an Esper's mind, and perhaps when Relm was older she could feel it as well. For now, they only had Terra. They should have trusted her more.

"I think," Terra continued in a voice that was barely a whisper. "I think that I've felt that kind of power before."

"Where?" Edgar asked.

"It was in the Sealed Cave," Terra replied after some deliberation. "When the Espers charged out of the gates and nearly killed us all, that was when I had the same feelings."

"That couldn't have been an Esper," Locke said. "I don't know what it was but something, maybe Ifrit, tells me that it wasn't anything like an Esper." He referred to the Magicite that hung around his neck. Nearly everyone had one. They had been charged with the duty of stopping the Empire's war and saving the espers.

Terra clutched at the stone that hung around her neck, the shards of her dead father: Maduin. "I don't know what it was either," she admitted. "Just that it's extremely dangerous."

They fell silent. Though what had passed by was still mysterious, it seemed undeniable that it could have ended their lives. It was a humbling thought for a band of warriors that had seen so much.

"-gon," Cyan whispered.

Edgar almost missed it in the silence, that was how quiet Cyan's voice was. He was carrying a pack on each shoulder, still staring into the sky. The flickering light above Edgar's palm barely illuminated the old man's face.

"What was that?" Sabin asked. He was farthest from the Doma knight and had missed what was whispered.

Considering how reserved Cyan was lately, it was a surprise that he repeated himself. Later, Edgar would assume it was because Cyan and Sabin were close friends -- bonded from the many battles they fought together and a shared sense of guilt at Gau's death.

"'twas a dragon," Cyan repeated quietly. "A dragon greater than the airship in length."

The awkward silence that followed that revelation could be broken by only awkwardness. It was the sound of a small stomach growling from emptiness.

"Dragon or no dragon, I'm hungry," Relm whined.

Edgar grinned in spite of himself. "Let's get out of here and find a more sheltered spot," he decided. "Then we can eat."

---

Sabin felt more peaceful than normal. His feet were crossed and his hands rested comfortably against his knees as he mediated. He had the second watch, although it meant little as of late. They had decided against paired watches during their march in the mountains, a few days ago. Monsters were nowhere to been seen and everyone could use the extra rest. They certainly deserved it after all they had been through.

His mind wandered as he rested. It was a good thing for him. All the unnecessary concerns and silly ideas could be given attention now, leaving him focused when the day returned.

The dragon that had passed by was quite concerning. It was large, he knew that much and Cyan had reinforced what he saw. Larger than the airship, that meant this dragon was easily bigger than the ones on the Floating Continent. That would make it the same size as Atma Weapon.

Perhaps it was one of the older monsters that they had safely ignored? It was possible. They had not covered the entire island and that place was infested with powerful creatures. It could have escaped the Floating Continent before the light beams and found refuge.

The dragons were strong and smart, a combination that made it very dangerous to fight. Michals had shared some tips dealing with their kind, the late Lieutenant had a great deal of experience with the green scaled monster's smaller cousins. Most of those suggestions had been oriented around his twin blades, though one strategy had suggested the use of archers and chocobos.

No matter, they would deal with it when it became a problem. There was no real reason to worry about it now. They had plenty of things that required attention.

He fetched some crackers from his pack before returning to soft patch of grass that was his spot.

As he chewed, his mind wandered again. Siana was growing despondent as of late. Marcus' death had affected her greatly, more so than anyone aside from Terra. As for Terra, well she had issues of her own to resolve. Sabin wondered what they would do once they returned to civilization. Perhaps they could take a long vacation in Figaro; Terra could use the rest and relaxation.

"Hey."

"You're back early" he said without looking up.

Siana sat down across from him. The ashes of their dead campfire separated them. "It's supposed to be a quick check of our surroundings," she pointed out. They had been partnered on the same watch since the crash and had a set routine. "Your loud chewing probably alerted everyone to our position," she said with a frown.

With a mouthful of crackers, Sabin grunted. "Sorry," he said after he swallowed. "I was a bit hungry and we have plenty of food again. It feels great to keep the stomach happy," he explained.

Siana rolled her eyes.

Time passed without a word exchanged. Their watches were typically silent. Sabin had little to say to the Imperial pilot, and the last time he had tried she chided him for being unprofessional. Sabin actually preferred the peaceful calm of their watches.

The sound of a single wolf, howling in what seemed like pain, reached his ears. It was far away. Probably too far for anyone else to hear it, but it was definitely a wolf.

Strange, there had been no monsters for two weeks. Was it just his imagination?

Another howl, and shortly after there were sounds that reminded him of swords. He should check out what the noise was.

"I'm going on a walk," he said. Siana nodded her approval; it was his turn to check the area anyways.

Sabin followed the sounds, his finely tuned ears telling him exactly where the wolves were. He remained careful of dead leaves and anything else that could have caused noise, the forest was still unnaturally quiet and any careless movements could give him away.

It took quite a while to forge a safe path in the darkness but as he crawled up a gentle hill, he found the source of the disturbance.

Using both the hill and a large pine nearby, he watched from the safety of the shadows.

There were a couple of them, six by his count. They were soldiers with brown leather armor and grayish-green cloaks. Sabin recognized the command bars on a couple of the exposed shoulders. These were Imperials, grunts if he remembered the rank symbols correctly. They were gathered around a large number of corpses -- the wolves he had heard earlier -- and were concentrating on the cave in front. Fortunately for Sabin, he had snuck up behind the soldiers. They did not notice him; such was their attention on the hollow.

Thump thump, Sabin could feel footsteps against his chest. Something was shaking the soft ground rhythmically. It was something big.

The soldiers did not look scared, so Sabin already knew what the footsteps were.

Two Magitek armors appeared out of the cavern, flanked by another two men. Actually, Sabin corrected himself; one was woman. The soldiers had torches, probably to light the inside of the cave, but quickly put them out. They exchanged some words with the other men. Sabin strained to listen to the quiet conversation but could pick up little. What he did hear were bits and pieces; something about 'extermination' and 'lunar'.

They were quite far away; at least three hundred meters through the thicket, Sabin judged. He could probably sneak closer and find out what the soldiers were doing here. The Imperials were relatively close to their campsite -- about a minute away if he sprinted. It was too close to be a coincidence.

His ears twitched.

Someone was behind him. They were sneaking around with some degree of experience, but they were not as good as he was. Whoever it was, they were still behind him a few dozen meters.

Sabin fought the urge to crack his knuckles. He would have to take care of this soldier; it was obvious that he had been discovered. Though the group in front of him would wonder why one of their sentries had been knocked out, it was a chance he had to take. He could not fight both Magitek armors together if an alarm was raised. Perhaps he would be lucky and they would assume the sentry tripped in the dark and fell to his death.

The thicket was filled with more rotting leaves and dead needles than he was used to. The ground was damp though, and that helped his stealthy crawl. He slipped behind a few trees, his razor sharp eyes taking in what they could of the shadowy forest. Now he knew enough of the area to sneak around the sentry and quickly knock him out.

A rock rolled slightly, Sabin could hear it clearly. The sentry had made another mistake. Now he knew exactly where the soldier was.

With a single breath, Sabin snuck behind his victim. In the shadows, he made out the glint of a polished blade. He pounced without hesitation, his right hand clasping around the mouth and his left twisting the knife arm.

Her gasp of pain was silenced by his powerful grip and he brought both of them to the forest floor with as little noise as he could. As his arm went for around the neck for a chokehold, her familiar scent stopped him.

They lay on the forest floor together. Sabin was seconds from choking her into unconsciousness, perhaps breaking her neck in the process, and only his heightened senses had stopped that accident.

"Get your hands off of me," Siana growled.

Sabin quickly loosened his grip, sitting up after she rolled off of him. He was wary that their little scuffle had alerted the soldiers. His heart was pounding from the sudden action, the adrenaline screaming for him to finish the job he started. He had almost made a big mistake.

"What are you doing so far away?"

Sabin stood up, putting a finger to his lips to tell her to be quiet. He snuck back in the direction of the soldiers.

They were still there, continuing their discussion in ignorance. The argument had heated up and distracted them from the struggle nearby. All eight of the soldiers were clustered around the two Magitek armors. The female with the unlit torch was saying something loud enough to be overheard.

"No! Orders were to head back!"

One of the Magitek pilots looked down at the woman. "Unless you want to wake every monster, shut up!" the voice said with disdain.

The soldiers all quieted down after that and Sabin heard precious little. He turned his head to see Siana, laying on the ground an arm's length away and watching the soldiers as well.

"How did you find them?" she asked. Her voice was barely a whisper.

"I heard them," Sabin answered. He watched as the soldiers began to leave, heading in the opposite direction as their camp. He wondered if they should follow.

"Really. Despite the distance from the camp, you're telling me you heard them." Somehow, her whispers dripped with sarcasm.

Sabin ignored her comment. He wondered what the Imperials were doing in the middle of a forest. Perhaps they were setting up some sort of trap. The Imperials were devious and likely stumbled on to their trail. Sabin shook his head; he should have remembered to hide their tracks. He was getting sloppy.

A minute of silence later, and Sabin started second-guessing himself. It was a terrible spot to launch an ambush from, and the Imperials were lacking the materials necessary to build anything of note. Sabin glanced over at Siana.

An Imperial mind to discern Imperial intentions. "What do you think they're doing here?" Sabin asked.

Siana squinted. "Two Fourth-gens and an infantry squad. No support in sight, and they're so green they're actually arguing amongst each other. I'd say they're on monster clean-up," she replied.

Sabin blinked. "Mind explaining a bit more?"

"Monster clean-up. There's probably a bunch of beasts near a local village and they're exterminating the menace. Boring work so they usually send the ones straight out of the academy," she said.

"No, I meant the 'fourth gem' comment," Sabin clarified. He was well aware of the Empire's method of exterminating 'menaces'.

"Fourth generation," Siana corrected him. "They're the latest mass production model, Light-Patrol Class Magitek. The whole line is brand new, probably no less than half a year old."

"I've seen them before somewhere," Sabin murmured.

"No you haven't. They're an extremely recent development. Top brass was screaming about the Corps' uselessness in the jungle. That's the brainiacs answer: a smaller, light-weight model that's robust, capable of long-term deployment without resupply. They took so long to get out of the prototyping stage that the war had already ended," Siana sounded extremely bitter. "Typical brainiacs, they don't care a thing about us on the front. They just test and test from their safe little labs until their toys are absolutely perfect."

Sabin was sure he had seen the smaller Magitek Units before though. But where... Sabin thought about all the times he had faced Magitek. It was a lengthy list and he had never given serious thought to what kind of Armor opposed him in the midst of a battle.

The soldiers were now almost out of sight, the darkness swallowing them. The immediate danger had passed.

"Fourth-gens are pretty weakly armored compared to what I pilot," Siana continued. "They're meant to either give chase, like going after cavalry, or act as heavier support in rugged terrain. Their weapons are pathetic compared my ATA, and can't even be compared to the frontliner. It's just an elemental cannon tuned for speed," Siana turned her head towards him and finally noticed Sabin's distracted expression. "Not that you seem to care in the least," she pushed herself off the moist ground.

Sabin looked up at her. Suddenly everything had fallen into place. "You fought in the Doma War," he stated bluntly.

The surprise was clear on her face. It confirmed Sabin's dark suspicions. Before her lips formed words of denial, Sabin had gotten to his feet and spoke in a quiet, threatening voice. "Don't you dare lie. A lot of things make sense now. I had thought you just didn't like Cyan, but the space you gave him was out of fear, wasn't it?" His finger pointed at her accusingly. "You killed his people."

Siana straightened. The surprise had passed and her guard was back up. "I was assigned to Doma only for the first half of the war. General Christophe requested Magitek support and ISF sent our company. We were one of the best and did what we were told," she stated plainly. There was not a hint of guilt in her voice and that enraged Sabin.

"So that's it? You were just following orders? I'd tell you that doesn't excuse your actions, but you already know that." Sabin realized his hands were clenched. He didn't remember doing that. Siana had responded to the threat and was backing away slowly. "Why else would you feel so guilty around Cyan?" he lowered his fists but couldn't seem to unclench them.

"I didn't poison his people, Sabin. I was only there for half the war! Like I said, our units were useless in the woods around Doma. We were barely capable of destroying their railway infrastructure. So after that, I was recalled along with most of the other pilots," she glared back at him. "Those still alive," she muttered under her breath.

"Don't lie to me, Imperial," Sabin growled. "The truth is in your actions: you were a willful participant. I can see right through all the treachery. You must have known about the poison," his eyes glazed over. He remembered each and every single face that had boarded the Phantom Train. There had been hundreds, thousands, that had gone aboard the train. Cyan's wife and son, Elayne and Owain, had such haunted looks. It sent shivers down his spine.

"You killed them you by following that lunatic Kefka! Why else avoid Cyan if you're innocent?" Sabin found himself judging how difficult it would be to snap her neck.

"Because I was afraid of something like this," Siana shot back. "This knee-jerk reaction that I murdered thousands in cold-blood just because I was involved in the campaign. Do you have any idea how insulted I am that you would equate me that maniac Kefka? Do you even grasp how much I hate that bastard?" She closed the distance between them quickly. In her rage she had forgotten Sabin's physical advantage. "I killed my own people next to you," her finger jabbed at his chest. "I betrayed my Emperor and my country to help you kill Kefka!" her finger drove into his flesh, accenting each word. "I watched my fellow soldiers, my friends, die to help you! To help you kill Kefka! And now every one of them is dead! Everyone! Except me!"

Her jabs had become punches. With each blow, she had become more and more angry. Sabin grabbed her hand and held it firm against her struggles. Even then her other hand caught him in the cheek. He grabbed that one as well and pulled her tight against him. He watched her flail uselessly and decided to wait until she calmed down.

Siana didn't. Her foot caught him between the legs and though Sabin didn't collapse, he did let go of her in surprise. She backed away from him quickly. "And don't you ever dare suggest that I served under that bastard, you rebel scumbag," she spat. She ran off into the murky darkness.

---

Sabin strolled back into camp. He had initially wanted to hurry; Siana might have been planning on stealing their supplies and gear or at worse, try to kill them while they slept. But the dark forest was thick and dangerous to travel quickly and once calm, Sabin realized that he was being far too harsh.

He was surprised to find her quietly finishing her watch. Somehow the possibility never occurred to him.

Her back was facing him and Sabin took note that she had retrieved her knife. It was sheathed just above her boot. Her silence made Sabin uncomfortable.

Siana's eyes flickered to him as he approached.

"I'm sorry," Sabin said to her back. The words came out slowly. "I overreacted and said things that were both wrong and insulting."

Siana didn't give him the satisfaction accepting the apology. She didn't even turn around. It brought uncomfortable memories of his first meeting with Celes to mind. Cyan had been close to executing both Celes and Terra after he realized they had both been Imperials at some point. Sabin had stood behind his friend even while his brother defended the two girls. Edgar had been right, as usual, but Sabin loathed to admit that. There were rarities in a sea of murderous thugs, that was all Edgar had proved.

An Empire of murderers.

"Fine," Sabin made up his mind. "Don't accept it," he said. "It's not like I care," he finished the sentence mentally. He looked around the camp for another spot to take up his watch.

"Will you tell him?" Siana asked.

Sabin opened his mouth, but he didn't have an answer. Before it had been obvious, of course he would tell the others of her involvement in Doma. "Why are you still here?" he asked. Her answer would help him decide.

Siana ignored his question.

"What are you doing here?" Sabin rephrased after his patience was exhausted.

"I asked my question first," she retorted.

Sabin frowned. That arrogant little... "No," he grumbled. "No I won't tell Cyan. He has enough on his mind already. There's no need drag out bad memories, especially since you swear you had nothing to do with the poison."

Siana finally looked at him. "Thank you," she gave a nod of her head before turning away.

"Now answer my question."

She ignored him. Sabin would ask again several times that night, but Siana didn't speak again.

---

Finding out about the soldiers was both a good and a bad thing. On one hand, they knew they were back in civilization at last. On the other was the Empire, a problem for a group of Returners both recognizable and infamous.

Still, they had to take the chance of being caught. They had no choice; Setzer and Strago's lives depended on it.

However, they had yet to come up with a plausible cover story. They were no longer heavily armed but they were still suspicious. Four men, two women and one child, appearing out of the mountains where no one lived? It was going to raise a few eyebrows, if not attract the attention of whatever garrison the Empire had nearby.

The path they had been following had gradually changed. In the beginning, it was practically impossible to follow without dedicated trackers, now it was a well-worn dirt path. Edgar knew the type; they would soon merge with a major road. Once that happened, their hand would be forced. The chances of meeting unsavory characters on a major road were extremely high.

Locke had come up with a decent plan though. He had snuck ahead of them to watch the road. Apparently, he had been in these woods before and memories from his previous experiences were surfacing again.

Edgar recalled a few Returner sympathizers in the northernmost sections of the Empire. Most lived in small villages that were barely large enough to be included on the map.

He tried to remember the lists now, somewhat annoyed at his sudden memory loss. In the past, he had helped Banon coordinate the rebel-information network. Though that had been a long time ago, Edgar had worked for years with the Returners and even a few of the names should have stuck in his mind. After all, they had been a small and closely-knit organization then. They would have laughed at the very notion that eventually they would be the cause of a treaty between the Empire and the northern continent.

Edgar crossed his arms as he remembered those carefree days. Back then, he had acted the part of the Empire's ally while plotting their downfall. It had been an enjoyable time -- stressful perhaps -- but far better than fighting the great war against the Empire.

They waited for nearly an hour just a few miles away from the main road. Edgar passed the time by playing with Relm. His mind though, was on other things.

Locke returned with a smile on his face, although he was nearly clobbered by Sabin. Edgar's twin brother had decided to keep watch slightly farther away from the group. Considering he had been the one to find the squad of Imperial soldiers last night, it made sense that he was the most cautious. He went alone; Sabin didn't really work well with a partner.

"I've got good news, and better news," Locke announced as he strolled into their midst.

"Start with the good news," Edgar suggested.

"The good news is that I recognize the place. We're near Nestil," Locke explained. "I've been here twice on errands."

Nestil, that village was familiar to Edgar. He recalled that it was one of the northernmost settlements that the Empire had. If he remembered the maps correctly, it meant that his calculations on their bearings hadn't been too far off.

"Which means I know someone in Nestil," Locke continued. "A former blacksmith named Garrett. He's a nice man, and more importantly, a long time sympathizer."

Edgar gave Locke a disproving look, one that was mirrored on the face of Cyan. While she might have been helping them, Siana was still decidedly Imperial. Locke was being his old naive self and from the look on his face, ignorant of his faux-pas.

"That's good news then. Nestil is large enough to have a doctor resident and we have a friend on the inside," Edgar replied. He briefly wondered what else Locke could reveal before asking the next question. "What's the really good news then?"

"The Empire is in Nestil," Locke grinned.

Edgar cast a sidelong glance at Siana. Locke had confirmed their fears, and now Edgar had to deal with another issue: What was the Imperial pilot planning? Marcus had led his men into committing treason by siding with Celes, but Marcus was dead now. Even if Siana's loyalties were with Celes and she was following her General's orders to guard the Returners, how would things change once they were back in Imperial territory?

Locke was disappointed that no one responded to his joke. "They're dealing with tons of refugees; I met at least ten of them headed in the direction of Nestil. Apparently all the nightly monsters we normally deal with have been a big problem here," he continued.

"That explains why the forest is so unnaturally quiet, or at least, it explains a bit of it," Edgar commented.

"Right, but more importantly, it means that the Empire is undermanned up here. They don't have enough soldiers to watch every single refugee. All we have to do is slip into Nestil with a big enough group and they'll never catch us. I didn't even see them doing checks, they're just using the place as a campground and headquarters while they send out small squads to deal with monsters," Locke said.

"That is pretty good news," Edgar said. "The Empire is doing something to help its people, and at the same time, is too busy to catch us. And we certainly look like refugees," he waved around.

They all looked at themselves somewhat self-consciously. Their clothes were bloodied, but there was so much dirt that the dark splotches had been covered up. They had been traveling for over a month without taking so much as a bath.

Locke cleared his throat. "Yeah, I guess that's a bonus," he said as he rolled his eyes.

Relm giggled.

"Let's lose the torches and head to the village then," Siana said. She sounded impatient.

"Not having torches would make us look more pathetic," Edgar agreed. "We should hide the good weapons though; maybe keep some knives on hand. It wouldn't be good to stroll into Nestil pretending to be harmless but fully armed; they might assume we're bandits."

Sabin and Cyan both picked up the litter with Setzer and Strago on it. "Let's go then," Sabin said.

They dropped their torches and walked through the forest in the dark, like many of the refugees Locke had seen. Once they were on the main road they found the going much faster. After trudging through the mountains for so long, a dirt trail worn down by years of Chocobos was equivalent to a paved road. They made good time and met up with a family that was fleeing from the mountains as well. No one asked them questions or found them suspicious, although they had to take care to hide Terra's hair. Green hair was uncommon and they couldn't afford to stand out. They were just another group of refugees fleeing the sudden monster invasion. Seeing Setzer and Strago on a litter was nothing new, nearly all the travelers had their share of injuries.

Surrounded by innocent Imperial citizens, they entered Nestil unchallenged. The town was lit with many torches, giving the impression of vivid nightlife despite being the middle of the day. The streets were filled with people going about their business without fear or apprehension of the hoards that surrounded their village. Some had journeyed for days through dangerous lands, avoiding death by the narrowest of margins, just to reach Nestil. They were protected here by Imperial soldiers and everyone welcomed those men.

Edgar stared at the Magitek Armor they passed. It was standing to the side of the main road, its pilot watching the forests for any sign of life. Over twenty feet tall, it loomed over every single refugee that made its way past it; a symbol of overwhelming power.

"An ATA," Sabin whispered beside him.

Every refugee that passed the Magitek Armor looked up in either admiration or disgust. The pilot paid them no heed; his orders were to protect these people, not to look for criminals or rebels. He kept watch for signs of monsters and ignored the rest.

Edgar sighed. They were back in the Empire.  



	4. Hidden in Plain Sight

**The Fourth Chapter - Hidden in Plain Sight**

Nestil was a town on the northern border of the Empire. It was also the biggest town within two days march of the mountains. In the past, it had been much larger because of the many entrepreneurs living there. Metals and gems were abundant because of its location near the mines. The town had a bustling business district with dozens of competing workshops busy turning raw goods into beautiful pieces of art and treasure.

During the recent year though, Nestil shrank to a shadow of its former self. The mines had been closed by direct orders from the Emperor. Nestil's future seemed to be dead once its businessmen and youth left in droves for better opportunities in the Core. However, people were always ready and willing to adapt. Once the Doma War began, lumber and fishing replaced the former mining and refining industries. The Imperial war machine needed raw materials and Nestil had copious amounts of the stuff and a willingness to supply. The town saved itself from the fate of other mining villages and flourished again.

Now it had a population of nearly a thousand. Abandoned buildings, mostly former workshops, had all been taken up by the townspeople and refitted to house their booming lumber industry. They had yards of treated wood in stockpiles ready to be shipped to the Empire's cities. With such a great reserve of ready building materials, it had been easy to wall off the town when the monsters began to attack.

Refugees from the nearby villages had decided there was safety in numbers. Now Nestil was overcrowded, its population had grown one and a half times the number from the week before. Hastily made tents outnumbered the buildings and the center of town became a great bustling market. Many people from the south had journeyed to Nestil, braving the dangers of the forest in order to sell their goods at exorbitant prices. Food was in abundance if one had the money. Clothing and tools were easily found as well. From useless trinkets to fancy jewelry, hawkers of all types came to ply their wares. Some of the hawkers were even selling charms to ward off monsters.

With so many people, it was almost impossible for the small group of Imperial soldiers to pick out the Returners. Edgar had been quite relieved of that. Nestil had a weak garrison by the Empire's standards, but it was still numbered forty men with Magitek support. As well, these men were defending the town. Fighting would cripple them and Edgar did not wish to do that. He had no quarrel with the Empire if they were protecting thousands of lives from monsters.

Garrett was a blacksmith that had moved to Nestil during its glory days. He had a substantial mansion compared to the typical village house, though that was not uncommon in Nestil. Garrett's talents had been in high demand until cheap materials could no longer be had from the local mines. After that, he began to sympathize with the Returners.

They were fortunate to have his aid, no matter how selfish his reasons. The inns in Nestil were completely packed but Garrett had three deserted rooms. They had once belonged to a lovely friend of Garrett's, but were now barren and neglected.

Garrett had introduced them to the doctor, Kenneth. He was an honest young man who stayed in Nestil to help the villagers out of kindness and not for the money. Thanks to the monsters though, he was beyond busy. Had it not been for Garrett, it was doubtful that Kenneth would have accepted Setzer and Strago as his patients. However, Kenneth had owed Garrett for some favors in the past. Since Garrett owed Locke for more unnamed favors, everything worked out.

---

Their first night in Nestil was spent resting and relaxing. They gorged themselves on food provided by their gracious host. It had been a long time since they had ate a large dinner, cleansed themselves with running water and slept on real beds. Being clean and well-rested did wonders for their moods. Terra seemed almost normal again, melancholy instead of suicidal. Relm was more energetic, Sabin was grinning ear to ear and even Cyan had a smile on his face. They ate breakfast with cheer and gusto; the hurts of the past few weeks had washed away with the dirty water of their baths.

Kenneth approached them that afternoon.

The doctor was keen and invigorated despite staying up most of the night to deal with the many patients he had. Those high numbers had both been a blessing and a curse. Edgar knew that the soldiers might occasionally go to the doctor, either to address wounds or to request other services. If any of them recognized Setzer, it would have been a precarious situation. Fortunately, with so many patients, it was doubtful any of the soldiers would even notice. As for Strago, he was from Thamasa and few Imperial men could recognize the wizened sage, if they even knew he was part of the Returners.

"Your friends are better off than I expected," Kenneth was saying. They sat in Garrett's house. The blacksmith had been so successful that he had a room devoted to entertaining guests. Terra and Relm marveled at vastness of Garrett's house, but it was nothing new for Edgar. Business should be done in a room dedicated to such things. It was simply common sense for the King.

"That's good news," Edgar replied. They were all in the meeting room and sat around a large wooden desk. The table was made of polished hardwood that Edgar found delightful to touch. It reminded him of the old wooden tables in Castle Figaro's library: classy, delicate, yet warm to the touch.

"Yes, well I didn't expect much after you told me about your journey. I must say, these two are in incredible health after being on road for so long," Kenneth shook his head in wonder. "Considering you have no one trained to even deal with injuries like this, I'm amazed."

Locke was watching Terra to see if she was going to take credit for her work. Seeing no movement, he started to speak, only to be kicked in the shin by Edgar. A glare from the King reminded Locke that Kenneth, though a friend of Garrett's, could not be fully trusted. Even Garrett did not know about their magical abilities that were granted by the magicite each wore around their neck.

"Anyhow, I'm sure you want to know what's wrong with them. I'll start with the easy one. The old man-"

"Strago," Sabin offered.

"-Strago," Kenneth said, "is in a trance of sorts. I've seen something like it once or twice before when I was an apprentice in Albrook."

"A trance?" Edgar asked. That sounded like something Sabin should have been able to recognize.

"Yes," Kenneth said. "Not too many people know of things like this. Even I don't know how to put myself in such a reverie. I only know how to recognize and treat the symptoms. Simply put, Strago put himself into a very deep sleep to conserve his strength. That's why his breaths are so far apart; he's saving his power so he can last long enough to get medical attention."

Edgar should have been surprised, but found himself smiling at Strago's cleverness. Of course the old man would have known something so arcane. He was a lore master and studied books for nearly all his life. Edgar could not imagine the amount of knowledge Strago had.

"Is gramps going to be alright?" Relm asked.

It was strange for a ten-year old girl to be included in such a discussion but after all she had been through, they couldn't tell her to simply sit on the side. She sat beside Cyan, the older Knight had watched over her protectively ever since the airship crash. Edgar still railed at Locke's stupidity. To include a child as young as Relm in a journey as dangerous as theirs was one of the greatest displays of incompetence he had ever seen.

"He will be fine. The problem is waking him up. I can feed him and prevent him from dying of thirst, but bringing him out of the trance will only be accomplished on his own," Kenneth answered.

So Terra was right, Edgar mused. Strago had been in a situation where only he could save himself.

"As for the other man," Kenneth waited.

"Setzer," Sabin offered again.

"Setzer," Kenneth nodded his thanks to Edgar's twin brother. "Well, he's the difficult one."

"I doubt he knows how to put himself into any trance but a gambling one," Locke mused.

"Well that's part of the problem," Kenneth said. "Setzer was in extremely good physical condition prior to his injury, I can tell that much just by a glance. But something has induced him into a coma; one where he's constantly dreaming."

"Dreaming?" Edgar repeated. "How do you know that?"

"His eyes," Kenneth explained. "When your eyes are constantly flickering, it's a sign of dreams. Something is affecting him from the inside." Kenneth tapped his head. "It's an internal struggle, comas always are, and I can also keep him from dying of thirst and starvation. That's not a real problem, but you should be aware of it nonetheless. The real issue is the toxin."

"He's been poisoned?" Locke asked.

Edgar noted that Terra was right again, aside from the poison. Interesting, he thought. He should mention it to her; it would be good for her confidence.

"Yes, some sort of poison has worked its way into his system. It's a pretty weird one; I've never encountered anything quite like it. I do recognize the symptoms though, and I should be able to easily devise a concoction to cleanse the toxin."

"But?" Edgar knew there was a problem. If there were no issues, Kenneth wouldn't explain something he could easily heal.

"But," Kenneth sighed, "one of the herbs necessary can't be bought here. They only grow in the desert."

"That's a big problem," Edgar said. "There are no deserts anywhere within two weeks of here... and even then, finding something growing in the desert must be ridiculously hard."

"It's not as difficult as you might think. The plant is farmed in Alfort-Brougham since it's quite useful in many mixtures. It's quite costly, but I expect that it could be found in any of the major cities."

"Like Tzen," Edgar continued Kenneth's line of thought.

The doctor nodded. "That's correct; Tzen will definitely have the herb." He pulled a pocket watch from his jacket and looked at it. "It seems I must be heading back. I have written a description and the name of the herb here," he slid a piece paper across the table. "You should be weary of fakes. I've described how to insure that you're buying the right plant, just remember that a visual check is not enough. As for the poison, it's a slow one and I can delay it quite a bit. However, you should try to get the herb within three weeks. I can't guarantee your friend's life beyond a month, even with the antidote at that point."

Edgar stood at the same time as the doctor. They shook hands. "Thanks Kenneth, three weeks is more than enough time to get to Tzen and back. We'll have the herb for you," Edgar promised.

Kenneth nodded. "Then I'll leave it in your hands. You can visit your friends anytime, but I am typically quite busy. You'll have to excuse my directness, but I really have to be leaving."

They thanked the doctor again before he left Garrett's house.

"Well," Edgar said as he sat back down. "It seems we have a problem," he glanced around. Locke was busy reading the description Kenneth had provided. Cyan had a knowing look on his face; he knew the problem as well. Sabin seemed preoccupied with other matters. Siana had a worried look on her face, she knew too. Terra was blank as usual. Relm pretended to be busy staring out the window, but Edgar had a feeling she was all too aware of the challenge they faced.

"Tzen is about a week's march away from Cartha, the biggest town in these parts. Now Cartha is pretty close and they probably have lots of chocobo mounts there, but we can't take any of them," Edgar explained. "That leaves us with hardly any time to spare."

"Why can't we take the chocobos?" Terra asked unexpectedly.

"Chocobos draw attention," Edgar explained. "We can't take that kind of risk, not after Garrett told us martial law has been declared in this province." He gave a glance directed at Siana, who nodded her agreement. "Traveling on foot will be the only possible choice."

"Oh," Terra replied with little substance.

"The problem only gets worse," Edgar said. "We're all pretty famous here; our faces have been on posters for a good half year or more -- especially my good looking mug."

"Troops would recognize you pretty quickly," Siana acknowledged.

"Which means only a couple of us can go to Tzen," Edgar stated. "We can't risk being caught, not with Setzer's life hanging-"

"I have a plan," Locke interrupted.

They all looked at him, frowning at the devious grin on his face.

"What are you talking about?" Edgar asked. He was annoyed at being cut off, especially by Locke. Too often had their conversations back in the forest turned into shouting matches because the thief had no manners.

"I have a plan to get into Tzen. It's pretty simple really," Locke started. His signature smile induced dread in all who recognized it. "You're right; not all of us can go, because we might get caught. The other thing is that we might need a cover story if we do get questioned. So the only ones that can go can only go if it makes sense," he said with relish.

"You're rambling," Edgar pointed out. He folded his arms and prepared to tell Locke that his plan was unworkable. Edgar had done that many times during their journey since the crash. Their watches had been filled with arguments, most of which were due to Locke's incredible naivetÈ.

Locke's grin grew. "This won't be dangerous as long as we pick the right people and our story is plausible," he said.

At this point, Garrett walked into the room and sat down on one of the padded chairs. "Sorry," he apologized. "I'm just tired and need to sit; the hawkers in the market were out harassing my customers again."

No one spoke up. It was not as if they would tell Garrett to leave his own house.

"It's really simple," Locke continued.

In any other case, Edgar would stop Locke from revealing their plans in front of a stranger, but he noticed that Locke trusted Garrett a great deal. He wondered why and mentally balanced the risks they were taking. Locke had definitely been too careless as of late, speaking openly in front of Imperial soldiers, not thinking his plans through, and was far too trusting in general.

"I'll go to Tzen with Terra and Relm."

Edgar snapped out of his thoughts. He glared at Locke and he was not alone. With the exception of Relm and Siana, everyone was giving Locke a dirty look. After all, Locke had just suggested putting Relm in danger. That was unforgivable by itself. To bring Terra along as well, that was just atrocious.

Locke held up his hands in defense. "Before you start killing me with those stares, let me explain."

"That would be a start," Cyan said. When angry, the Doma Knight had a glare that could have frightened a dragon. This was slightly different; there was more murderous rage.

Edgar felt a sudden, overwhelming urge to walk over to Locke and slam his face through the table. Only his years of deportment training had kept the frustration from winning out.

"We can all agree that the three of us are relative unknowns in the Empire, right?"

"No," Edgar retorted immediately. He mentally reprimanded himself. He was letting his rage get the better of him. "Did you forget how much Terra stands out?" he asked in a calmer tone.

"That's the genius of my plan," Locke said. "Everyone stares at the color of Terra's hair. No one really notices what she looks like -- no offense," he added sheepishly.

Terra stared back vacantly.

"If we dye her hair, I bet no one would have any idea it's Terra. They'll all be on the lookout for a green haired girl," Locke finished.

"It's true," Garrett interrupted unexpectedly. "Not to say imply anything," he gestured to Terra. "You are quite attractive, but the only thing I first noticed was the color of your hair. It's very unique."

Cyan folded his arms. "Thy plan involves Relm. Why?" The Knight of Doma didn't just ask for answer, he demanded it.

That got Siana's attention as well. Her narrowed eyes added a fifth hostile stare in Locke's direction.

"If it was just me and Terra," Locke began. "We might get pegged as a young couple fleeing from their parents and family. That kind of tale usually attracts the attention of soldiers faster than an esper."

Siana's gaze softened in understanding. "That makes sense," she admitted.

"What do you mean by that?" Edgar asked.

Siana rolled her eyes. "Children should not be playing around in hopeless relationships."

"But... you're the same age as Locke or Terra," Edgar stammered in confusion. "They're not exactly children."

"We're obviously adults," Siana sighed. "I was talking about kids. Children should be in school learning, or in the military serving the good of their fellow men," Siana said those words as if she was reading from a textbook. "If I were still on patrol, I would send any couple to the stables for a month so that they can do some actual good."

"Ridiculous!" Cyan roared.

"What is? That the Emperor would care for our future and ensure that no citizen would waste their lives?" She folded her arms.

"Gestahl cares for nothing other than himself!"

Edgar suddenly remembered something he had heard. It was from one of the scholars of Figaro. He forgot the name of the man, but the scholar was an authority on the rise of the Empire. Edgar had gone to him shortly after his father's poisoning. Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer went the old saying. He had learned much that seemed useless.

Now those tales of political maneuvering, power-plays within the military, and edicts granted to gain public support rushed back to the surface. One particular edict was at the forefront of his memories.

The Morality Crusade.

Locke cast a side-long glance at Edgar. He had a smug look on his face, telling Edgar he had expected that kind of reaction.

"Cyan, now is not the time for this! We have Setzer's life to consider!" Edgar quickly took control of the situation. He could not afford to let Siana and Cyan argue. The two were already exchanging insults at such a pace that he couldn't even distinguish individual barbs. Their screaming echoed throughout the house and gestures were of a culture that Edgar did not recognize. Cyan had been close to drawing his sword, so close that Sabin had already stood up. The way he stood though, Edgar wondered if Sabin was going to stop Cyan or help him.

"Either way," Locke interrupted the King's diplomacy. "If Relm travels with us, we can be brother and sister. Since Relm is there, they would not question that kind of relation. We would be just another family seeking refuge, our parents killed by the horrible monsters."

Siana nodded in approval. "That makes sense. There were quite a few families amongst the groups of refugees. It's unlikely you would be questioned."

Her endorsement did not give credibility to Locke's plan. Instead, it only aggravated Cyan. "I will not allow this!" he declared. His fist slammed down on the table, shaking everyone and leaving no doubt in Edgar's mind that a table of lesser quality would have folded like cardboard.

"Is there another way?" Surprisingly, it was Relm that spoke up. She had a serious look on her face that was directed at Cyan. After a minute, the glower on the Knight's face melted.

"I suppose not," Cyan conceded. "That doesn't make things any easier though, dear one."

Relm gave him an inquisitive look. "Why not? We have to save Setzer, don't we?"

Do we? Edgar wondered. He relaxed into his chair and pondered, confident that the possibility of violence had subsided.

Cyan frowned. It was obvious that he couldn't think of an answer he agreed with. "It's not that simple," he said at last. The authoritative answer of generations of fathers caught off guard by their children was his only resort.

"Why not?"

Cyan was defeated by the innocent retort of generations of children more clever than their father. The Knight shifted in his seat uncomfortably and desperately tried to think of an answer.

"Why Terra? Why not Siana?" Sabin asked as he glanced around the table for an answer. He had saved his friend, though at the same time, he had partially endorsed Locke's plan.

Edgar thought it was Locke that had made such a brainless comment. When he realized it was Sabin, he leveled his most incredulous stare at his brother. Are you stupid? His expression said.

"What?" Sabin raised his hands innocently.

Because she's an Imperial soldier, you nitwit! What happens if she betrays Locke and Relm so that she can get back in the Empire's good graces, you mindless buffoon! Do you even think before you ask these idiotic questions? Edgar felt his right-eye twitch uncontrollably. "We can't take the chance that someone in the Imperial ranks might recognize her," Edgar said instead. "It would be a bigger risk."

"Yeah, Davis said you were pretty well-known since you were piloting Magitek since Tzen's fall," Locke added confidently.

Siana narrowed her eyes. "I was barely old enough to join the academy when Tzen fell," she said incredulously.

Locke blinked. "I must have heard wrong... or something," he stammered, clearly embarrassed. "Either way, what about the plan?"

Edgar sighed. He could not argue against it. It was well reasoned and minimized the dangers that could befall them. Setzer's life depended on their actions. They really had no choice. Edgar looked at the green-haired half-Esper. "Terra," he said softly. "Do you think you can do this? It seems like the best way."

Terra looked down at the table and avoided their eyes. "I can try," she said softly.

Edgar nodded in defeat. "Alright Locke. We'll leave this in your hands. Remember to head to the market before you leave, your clothes right now don't fit the role of an older brother of a peasant family."

"We better head off as soon as we can then, I'll start filling our packs," Locke said as he stood up. "Terra, can you help me?"

She nodded.

Edgar sighed loudly. Sabin leaned against a wall with a frown on his face, and Cyan stormed out of the house red-faced. They were warriors. They had been trained for many things, but first and foremost they protected women and children. Now they stood idly on the side as Terra and Relm walked into danger. Their ineptitude was frustrating.

---

Edgar found Cyan behind Garrett's house. His sword was out, and he was making short work of his invisible opponents.

"Cyan," Edgar began. "I'd like to-"

"I do not wish to hear it, King Edgar," Cyan growled as he slashed downwards fiercely.

"Cyan, I don't like Locke's plan anymore than you do. But I see that it's the only way. Put aside your emotions and think this through!"

The Doma Knight had turned his attention to a large pine nearby. He kicked the trunk of the tree and sent leaves floating to the ground.

"Imperial troops would have arrested Locke and Terra, just like Siana said. We have no choice but to include Relm unless you think it's safer sending Locke on his own!"

Cyan had been cutting the air with his Doma-crafted blade, deftly cutting a number of leaves in half. Once there was nothing left to slice, he gestured at Edgar with his weapon. "It is ludicrous that they must travel in this mockery of a family. Your defense of that Imperial pilot's crazed reasoning was an insult to my honor."

"Her reasoning is a result of her conditioning. Cyan, you never studied the Empire like I did. You know nothing of it aside from its military arm," Edgar pointed back at Garrett's house. "Look at our ally here. Is it because of the Empire's soldiers that he assists us? There has always been other ways to bring the Empire to its knees. As the leader of my people, I learned what I could about the Empire. I'm sure your King also did the same."

Suddenly, Cyan swung his blade in a fast, powerful stroke. He almost spun full-circle. Cyan stopped as quickly as he started, his long black hair swung out and wrapped around his neck.

Edgar hadn't even noticed the path of Cyan's sword, but the pine's tree trunk had the telltale mark of a blade traveling through it. Cyan had cut the tree in half without knocking it over.

"You will not bring my liege into this blasphemy!" Cyan ordered angrily.

Edgar shook his head. "Listen to me. When Gestahl was young, he started something called the Morality Crusade. It was an Imperial rescript that ended up gaining him the adoration of nearly every citizen of the Empire. The only ones that weren't affected by his crusade were the nobles, and they aren't worth discussing."

"What does this have to do with anything, Edgar?"

Edgar shook his head sadly. "You're seeing the result now. The edict was made to crush what Gestahl had thought immoral traits. It criminalized the taking of multiple wives, prostitution, sex out of wedlock, the usage of certain addictive herbs, speaking ill of one's elders... it also reinforced certain habits within the populace. Marriage, family, and childbirth were heavily promoted. Education was free for children that showed promise as scholars or were willing to serve in the military. It even spearheaded the growth of their army in order to wipe out the monster menace. For all intents and purposes, it was a wonderful decree."

Cyan had calmed down. "And this is what Siana was quoting," he said.

Edgar smiled. "You noticed it too?"

"'twas was obvious she spoke from rote."

Edgar nodded. "The Imperial education system churns out soldiers that are far worse than her though. Most don't even think things through. I don't know how much Sabin told you about Marcus and Siana, but we had a real bad argument many weeks back. Even so-called Special Forces like those two have difficulty questioning their superiors."

"An admirable trait, though incredibly dangerous," it was the soldier in Cyan that spoke. "The Empire's treachery runs deep, corrupting even children. It is a vile plague that must be removed from this world. But perhaps I spoke ill of its citizens. I had not known such things."

"I knew, but forgot about it. Imperial history isn't exactly useful when fighting a war," Edgar explained. "I learned most of this when I was a child. My father had always followed the old saying: keep your friends close, and your enemies closer. He wanted me to learn as much as I could about the Empire."

"A forward-thinking man, he must have known of the Empire's evils long before they had appeared," Cyan concluded. "I only met your father once, and that was in my youth. He was a great man. I recall that he ended an old blood feud between two of the most powerful nobilities within our Kingdoms."

Edgar sighed. "Yes, father was a great diplomat."

"His son has done no worse."

Edgar made eye-contact with Cyan. The Doma Knight did not look like he was lying. "I drew my people into a war we could not win," the King of Figaro said regretfully. "I failed to send help to Doma because I was afraid of breaking my so-called alliance with the Empire. My meddling saw Narshe come under attack by an Imperial Magitek division. My truce with the Empire was a farce, and I am intimately connected with the massive destruction that the Floating Continent has wreaked upon the world," his shoulders shook with shame. "I am a failure, Cyan."

Cyan was silent for a moment, waiting for Edgar to continue his rant. When no more seemed forthcoming, Cyan sheathed his sword and spoke powerfully. "King Edgar, your hubris has no bounds if you think all those events is your fault."

Edgar opened his mouth, but had nothing to say.

"You would do well to heed your own advice, King Edgar."

---

For Edgar, the week passed by quickly despite having little to do other than wait patiently. Since Locke, Terra and Relm had left for Tzen, the four of them ended up fighting over the guest rooms. The fight was short lived though; Cyan was quite explicit that he would have his own room and no one would deny Siana hers. That left Edgar and Sabin to continue a traditional rivalry between brothers.

Edgar ended up with the room and Sabin the couch. Sabin had his freedom, Edgar surmised. The least he could do was to give a king his bed.

During the daytime, Sabin spent his time mediating in the forests. Cyan usually stayed in his room in deliberation, occasionally leaving to practice his swordplay. He had a lot of frustration to let out. Edgar worried about the Doma Knight. Cyan was a smart man, but he often let his emotions get the better of him. Things would deteriorate quickly, especially if the Empire was involved. They couldn't afford any situations in Nestil, not until Strago and Setzer had recovered. Edgar found himself often accompanying Cyan during his practices, even sparring with the elder knight.

Edgar's arm had finally healed; Kenneth had checked it over and gave him an ointment for the itching. Afterwards, Garrett had forged a new spear for Edgar. He had the money and Garrett had the time. The spear created was even better than the one Edgar had lost during the airship crash, mainly because he had a hand in the creation. The weight was almost perfectly balanced and the craftsmanship better than any Figarian blacksmith's. It didn't help against Cyan though. The Doma Knight could overpower him with little effort, outwitted him instinctively, and overwhelmed him with the sheer number of blows. The distraction was a great break from other unsolved issues.

One such issue had been avoided. Siana stayed in Garrett's house without needing to be asked. That was extremely fortunate. Edgar didn't know if he had the tact required to ask such a thing without showing his distrust of the Imperial pilot. It was a couple days after Locke, Terra and Relm departed that this situation would change. Garrett approached them in the morning and asked if they could do some shopping for him. He had been generously offering food from his cupboards and now they were empty. Siana offered to go to the market that afternoon.

Edgar approached his brother the moment Siana had been out of earshot. "Sabin, go with her to the market," he said.

Sabin glared, annoyed at Edgar's attitude. "No," he stated flatly.

"Sabin, don't be so stubborn," Edgar growled. He knew that Sabin and Siana had a tedious relationship that could be best described as mutual dislike, but he couldn't send Cyan. While the knight had calmed down after their discussion, Cyan was still dangerous where the Empire was in question. "I need you to keep an eye on her."

"Do it yourself," Sabin retorted. "I've dealt with her for the past month, now it's your turn."

Edgar's eye twitched. He signed loudly. "Sabin, I don't need this right now."

"Well brother, I'm sick of the Imperial and I'm sick of your orders. You're being selfish and I'm not going to just back down and let you have everything your way."

"Is that what you think this is? Another one of our little sibling rivalries?" Edgar asked. "Did being in the mountains for the last ten years prevent you from growing up?"

Sabin folded his muscular arms for effect. "Give me one good reason why I, instead of you, should tolerate that woman any longer than necessary."

Edgar smiled confidently. "Because you kept her company for the last month. You know her better than me or Cyan, so you can 'protect' her better than we can."

"That is absolutely-"

"-correct," Edgar interrupted. "I don't trust Siana as much as I trusted Celes... yet. But I don't want her to know that. If I follow her around, it'll look worse than if you did."

Sabin was speechless.

"I'm glad you see it my way."

---

Sabin carried four heavy paper bags in one hand. Each contained enough groceries to feed a family for weeks, since Edgar had suggested they should not skimp on the costs. After all, they had owed Garrett a great deal for his help. Filling his pantry was just a small favor among the many necessary in order to fully repay him. However, Sabin was rather annoyed at his role.

"I don't see the point of buying so much," he grumbled.

Siana spun around and gave him an annoyed sneer. "I didn't ask you to come. But since you wouldn't back down, then you might as well make yourself useful."

"I told you, I'm here to protect you," Sabin repeated his brother's lies. "That's going to be difficult when my hands are busy carrying enough food to feed a thousand people."

"Protect, right. Because I need babysitting from you," Siana growled sarcastically. She gestured at him rudely and turned back to the shops.

The market was packed. It was uncommon for a small town like Nestil to have its streets filled with people. However, these were not normal times. Nestil's main street had at least four-hundred wandering about. Each day that passed had seen more people abandoning the smaller villages nearby and fleeing to Nestil seeking the protection of the Empire.

The Imperials seemed to be surprised by the development. They had not the manpower to police such a large group and ended up allowing the townsfolk to create a sanctioned militia. The militiamen took on the role of watching the great crowds in the marketplace. They stayed on alert since torches were lighting the streets; it was possible for one errant drunk to burn down the entire town.

Sabin followed Siana around, looking into the stores every so often with a bit of interest. Spending years in the wilderness had given him a great deal of appreciation for the art of cooking. Preparation was the key to any good dish and that started at the marketplace. He gazed at the displays of various fresh meats chilled in buckets of ice. Some were quite fresh. Sabin was especially impressed by a huge boar that hung in one of the displays. His mouth watered at the thought of the beast slowly roasted over a campfire. That boar could satisfy ten men alone without any additional side dishes.

They wove their way through the thick crowd. It seemed like at least thirty more stores had sprung up in the last few days. Many barely qualified as stores; they were nothing more than hastily erected tents and some tables within displaying wares. Many of them had quality goods to buy though, and certainly there was no lack of interest from the immense crowd. Near a particularly popular stand, a fight had broken out between two men. They had pummeled each other for a minute and some in the crowd had even joined in before Imperial soldiers showed up and restored order. Sabin apprehensively noted that it wouldn't take much for a riot to break-out. It was indeed dangerous here, the militiamen seemed powerless to stop the fighting and that meant Imperials would be on their toes.

They passed three more fruit and vegetable stands and Siana gave him yet another bag to carry. Sabin scowled at her but she paid him no heed and returned to the stores. Siana noticed a couple more shady dealers hanging on the side of the road. She even recognized some of the things they sold; her military career had given her plenty of exposure to such concoctions. The one most of hawkers had for sale was Alcatef. A fellow pilot had been caught using the stuff before. Made from a plant that readily grew in the grasslands, it was highly addictive and very illegal in the Empire.

When she was fresh out of the academy, Siana had been put on patrols to fight the sale of Alcatef. She had never been suited for life as a foot soldier though and managed to transfer into Magitek maintenance instead. Still, the urge to arrest and throw scum like those dealers into jail was almost overwhelming. She told herself to calm down and ignore them. After all, it wasn't uncommon for people to have the stuff. It was a crime, but the Empire just didn't have the manpower to crack down on all the sellers these days. Unfortunate, Alcatef twisted people that used it.

They passed by a small charms store, one that caught Siana's interest. She told Sabin to wait while she headed inside.

"This is definitely not what Garrett asked for," he told her angrily.

"Then leave! I'm going in and I don't care what you do!" Siana snapped back.

To her surprise, Sabin turned his back. "Enough of this," though he said it under his breath, it was easily audible.

Siana growled a few choice curses at the rebel's back. They were words that no lady should ever know, but she had been in the Corps and that meant she was no lady. Her mother would have been shamed.

The charms shop was one of the original stores in Nestil. It was actually a building, with prepared displays and properly labeled goods. Half of the tables were empty though; Siana assumed it was because of the sudden increase in shoppers.

The store itself was crowded. There were quite a few people browsing the various aisles. Siana made her way to the trinket that caught her attention earlier, careful not to knock anything. The aisles were quite narrow and her cloak tended to take up far more room than her body did.

The trinket was a beautiful necklace. She wished Marcus was around since he would know if the silver metal was actually silver. With that thought, she felt a renewed pang of loss. She missed him. It had barely been a month, nowhere near enough time for her to get over the loss of such a close comrade. She shook her head, trying to force the unpleasant thoughts out of her mind. Instead, she admired the stone in the center of the necklace. It was a polished blue hue, not a gem, but some sort of rare rock. She didn't recognize it, but it looked perfect set amidst finely crafted metalwork.

Siana brought the necklace to the shopkeeper and asked how much it cost.

"Thirty gil," the shopkeeper replied. She pointed to the intricately carved design around the stone. "It's said that those designs come from ancient-"

"Sure," Siana cut the woman off. It was a good price and there was no need for the shopkeeper to convince her anymore. She paid for the item and turned around.

A man wearing a hooded cloak was directly behind her, unusual since it was a charms store. Most men would never be caught dead inside such a place. Even more unusual was the huge bulk he took up. It was a soldier, Siana knew that instantly. What was a soldier doing here?

She thanked the storekeeper and pulled her hood up. Trying not to make eye contact with the bulky man, Siana carefully pushed her way past.

His arm grasped her shoulder.

"Pilot First-Class Siana Deardon."

Siana turned, a lump growing in her throat.

The soldier pulled off his hood, revealing an unkempt beard and messy dark hair. "You have forgotten me already?"

"Godric..." Siana stammered in complete shock.

"What are you doing here?" Godric asked her. The Magitek pilot narrowed his black eyes in suspicion.

Siana's eyes darted outside. Sabin was gone, thankfully. She looked back at Godric, almost praying that he would be gone and it was all just a product of her imagination. That didn't happen, he was still there.

She cursed under her breath. Of all the people to meet in some pathetic little backwater village like Nestil, it just had to be him. Godric was a fellow pilot in her former company. Even worse than that, Siana had worked with him in Doma; he had been lead and she one of the wings. Her pulse raced upon seeing his familiar face. She had come up with a lie or something plausible.

"What are you doing here?" she blurted out.

"Don't throw questions back at me," Godric scowled. He was getting angrier. "I know the rumors about you; don't tell me that they're actually true."

Of course there would be rumors that she deserted. She had been quite well known for her piloting skills. Her disappearance after Michals had approached her for help saving General Chere from the Returners would have been known. Rumors in the Magitek Corps tended to spread like wildfire whether they were true or not. Right now, she needed something to say that was believable -- a fib to patch this over and get Godric off her back. She needed more time though. She had never expected to have to deal with anyone who knew her personally, much less a former wingman.

"I can explain," she started, her mind spinning as she tried to delay him.

His hand gripped her shoulder tightly; Godric was preventing her from running. "I suggest you start talking now," he said. His voice carried with it a dangerous threat.

Siana gritted her teeth. "Get your hands off of me," she growled.

His grip loosened slightly. "Talk," he ordered.

"No. Not here," Siana answered. She gestured at around them.

The entire store had grown quiet. Nearly every single person was frozen in place; they were frightened by the Imperial soldier.

Godric glanced around. "What do you think you're doing?" he growled at the storekeeper. "Get out!" he screamed.

The woman's face went white. She scrambled from behind the counter and ran outside as soon as possible, behind the crowd of customers that knew better than to test the patience of an Imperial soldier. There was a commotion outside and some screaming. Then everyone filed out of the doorway and in walked the source of the commotion.

"Captain," the Imperial that had walked in was another pilot, Siana noted.

"Cade," Godric acknowledged. "We seem to have caught a deserter here."

"The Corps deals with its own," Cade acknowledged.

Siana didn't recognize Cade, but it was obvious that Godric had been exploring the market with one of his wingmen. She noted with disdain that Godric had been promoted to Captain at some point; that made things even more difficult. In all likelihood, he would be the commanding officer in Nestil. The blade hidden in her boot beckoned, but even if she managed to kill both pilots, their disappearance would be instantly noticed. Siana cursed her luck.

This was, after all, her worst nightmare. There had been others, but this was as bad as it got. Ever since they had returned to Imperial territory, Siana had been trying to figure out what she would do. She didn't know if she had been declared a deserter. If she had been branded, then she was up for a court-martial and a trip to the noose. That had made going back to the Corps almost impossible, if it had even been a choice ever since General Chere had explained to them what the Emperor had been planning.

"What are you doing here?" Godric repeated his question.

She hadn't answered the question then and she didn't intend on answering it now.

"It doesn't look like she intends on talking," Cade mused. The pilot -- First Class like her -- was a tad shorter than Godric. The two were, for the most part, unthreatening. While Godric was an imposing man, he didn't have the size of a real warrior. Still, his Imperial uniform peaked out from beneath the standard soldier's cloak he wore. It was a constant reminder of the real problem at hand.

Siana knew she had to find out how much the two men knew. It could have been a chance meeting, but Siana doubted that. They had confronted her almost immediately after Sabin departed, and in a charms store no less. The thought of Godric in a charms store was laughable.

They had been following her. The question was how long they had been following.

"Godric, cut the useless chatter," Siana replied to her former wingman. She took a deep breath and regained her composure. "You want to arrest me? You might as well execute me now, since my court-martial will last as long as it takes them to sign the papers."

"You know I don't want that," Godric growled back.

"The straight-arrow is going against the rules?" Siana teased. "How unexpected of you."

"It really does look like you have a death wish," Godric sighed. "Listen, you're not the type to just abandon your post. You might bend the rules, but you don't break them. You rarely even talk back to your commanding officer!" He looked her up and down. "How long did we serve together in the ISF?"

"Not long enough for you to look the other way, I'd suppose," Siana replied.

Godric gestured to Cade. "What kind of commander would I be if I did such a thing?"

"The kind that respects his former subordinates," Siana retorted.

"Well that's rather difficult when you're accompanying a Returner!" Godric snapped.

Siana was almost relieved. It was about time that Godric took the bait and showed that he had the upper-hand. She put on her best surprised look for his sake.

"I saw the man you were with. He looked different. The hair wasn't exactly the same as I remember. But there you were in Nestil, weeks away from your proper post in Albrook, accompanying one of the most wanted men in the Empire!" Godric was irate. He was practically screaming, hands waving in the air wildly as he spoke. "It wasn't as if you were being led around, a prisoner or something. You were walking about freely, capable of turning in the rebel at anytime."

Returner. Rebel. Both singular. Siana made sure the look of relief didn't show on her face.

"So what's going on, PFC Deardon? Did you think desertion wasn't enough of a criminal act and you decided to settle for nothing less than execute-on-sight-high-treason?"

"Captain, we should bring her in for questioning. I'm sure the Major would be interested, or we could ship her to Tzen," Cade pointed out.

"Siana, I'm waiting for answer," Godric ignored Cade. "Why are you traveling with the Figarian King?"

Siana was caught off guard for a moment, and then burst into laughter.

Godric and Cade shared a look.

"Looks like the promotion you think you're getting won't happen," Siana laughed. She pointed at Godric. "I'm not traveling with any king. The man's name is Sabin. Remember that."

"What do you think I am, a fool? I've seen the posters," Godric growled back, not at all pleased with the way he was being treated. "And you will remember your place here!"

"I'm already walking-dead," Siana retorted. "And yes, you are a fool. Sabin is the King of Figaro's twin brother. I suppose you didn't realize that because it was in writing and you were busy looking at the picture of the pretty blond man. Didn't your last Captain put down a letter of reprimand on your record because you kept looking at maps instead of reading the briefings?"

Godric smashed his hand against a shelf, knocking it to the ground with a crash. "You disrespectful little traitor!" he shouted, enraged. "Cade! Bind her!" he ordered. He turned back to Siana. "We're going on a little journey, Deardon. I expect you'll be a little more cooperative when you're in chains and the whip strikes," he sneered.

Cade drew his knife and walked up to Siana carefully, but she put her hands out and purposefully rolled her eyes. Cade snatched the necklace out of her hands; Siana had totally forgotten about it.

"This will make a nice gift for my girlfriend," he sneered. Siana did her best to suppress her anger as Cade slipped it into his pocket and pulled out a piece of rope.

"I'm sure when we get through interrogating you and Sabin, we'll have the locations of all the Returners. How far you've fallen, Siana," Godric said.

"Don't make me laugh," Siana replied with as much bravado as she could muster. "I'm only traveling with Sabin out of convenience. When we parted ways, it was just that. You'll never find him again. You should have followed him instead of me, although I guess he would have easily beaten both of you. You were never much of a warrior anyways."

His palm caught her by surprise; the sudden blow to her cheek knocked her back a step. Siana spat the metallic taste out of her mouth and turned her angriest glare on Godric.

"I don't even know anything about the Returners," she growled. "I met Sabin in the forest, he helped guide me back here so that I could get some supplies and that was it; the full extent of his involvement. I barely even get along with him. Of course since you were following me, you would have already known that we aren't exactly friends."

The look on Godric's face was priceless. Siana could tell that he had never made the connection. As Marcus had told her a long time ago, the truth, selectively told, worked better than any lie.

Godric remained silent until Cade had finished the job. The three exited the charms shop, Godric leading, Siana in the middle with her hands bound, and Cade bringing up the rear. The owner was standing outside and shrank away when Godric glared at her.

They walked through the market at swift pace. The crowds parted away when they saw an angry Imperial soldier storming through. Only a fool would get in an Imperial's way and there were two that actually did, too drunk to notice. Those two were roughly thrown to the ground by a furious pilot. No one else made the same mistake again.

Siana grinned to herself. Godric was predictable as usual. By bringing up his bad habits and embarrassments, it had angered him. As usual, Godric made mistakes when emotional; the chief of which was having some green straight-from-the-academy pilot tie her hands. She flexed them now, knowing it was loose enough for her to strike when the chance arose. It had been obvious to her that Cade had never had field experience as a grunt, like she did. Even the short period of time she had spent arresting Alcatef dealers had taught her a few things, such as how to properly tie a woman's hands together.

As they continued through the market, Siana noticed they were passing the shop with the roast boar. Her mental map of the area told her she was rapidly running out of time. She would have to make due with whatever surprise her suddenly untied hands would offer rather than-

Interrupting her train of thought, a sudden cheer came from the crowd ahead. There were a few additional cries, and then the unmistakable sound of fists.

It was her chance.

Godric had stormed ahead, happy for the distraction as it meant he could take out his anger on the brawlers. As he stormed forward, he didn't realize how quickly the fight was degenerating. A few errant blows, shoving between the audience, and people were suddenly beating on each other without reservations. "Stop this immediately!" he shouted with as much strength as he could. He was an Imperial soldier. He would bring order to this situation.

An elbow caught him in the face.

Behind him several dozen paces, Siana quickly spun around. The rope around her hands was now only around her left, and her right hand was bunched up in a fist. Cade had been busy watching Godric, and the surprise on his face never even registered.

Sabin's fist met Cade's face with celerity. Cade was not a small man, but Sabin was easily half a head taller and dozens of pounds heavier. He had been running at full speed, urged by overwhelming need. His momentum allowed him to crush Cade's nose instantly, the Imperial pilot crashing into the ground already unconscious.

Siana's mouth dropped in surprise.

Sabin was not even breathing hard. He glared at the inert body of Cade, watching him for any possible movements.

Siana quickly recovered and grabbed Cade's knife. Without a second thought, she sheathed it in his heart.

"You-"

Siana tried to pull the knife out, but it was stuck. She cursed and instead drew the one hidden in her boot. With relish she ripped open his pocket and retrieved her necklace. She turned to Sabin, who had a look of surprise on his face. That look quickly changed to disgust.

"Come on, we need to get Godric!" she pointed into the rioting crowd.

Sabin frowned. "I will not help you murder and rob another defenseless man," he growled.

"He already knows about you, you stubborn idiot!" Siana found herself smiling when he saw the look of embarrassment on his face. That had taken the self-righteous fool down a notch. "We need to shut him up now!"

Sabin cursed and turned back. The riot was huge now, over a dozen people were fighting and more were joining in the havoc. Those that weren't beating on each other had decided to use the chaos to loot the stands, and that drew even the shopkeepers into the fray.

And just at the fringe were a group of six Imperial soldiers. Four had iron quarterstaffs, but two had drawn their swords. They were shouting and wading into the crowd with deadly intent.

"Too late," Sabin cursed. He grabbed her shirt. "We have to go, now!"

It hit her. Sabin hadn't been coincidentally there and certainly the riot wasn't one of chance. Siana looked at Sabin in disbelief when she realized why her comment had embarrassed him so much. "You started the riot and didn't kill him while you had the chance?" she asked incredulously.

"Now is not the time!" Sabin growled.

Siana shook her head. "You idiot," she whispered.

Sabin pulled her down an alleyway and they disappeared into the crowds of Nestil.

---

Locke cleared his throat.

The Imperial soldier looked him over again, his brow wrinkled in suspicion. "Well I don't like the way you're looking at me, but I'm feeling gracious today," he said. He looked over his shoulder, searching for something. "My commander isn't here either, so it looks like what I say goes. I'll let you pass."

Locke gave a nod of his head. "Thanks," he said. He wondered if the soldier was actually suspicious. The Imperial had examined everyone else in the exact same manner.

They were at the entrance to the city of Tzen. Everything before them was heavily guarded: the stone walls looked formidable and brimmed with eagle-eyed archers while the gates themselves had nearly a dozen men standing at guard. They were not normal soldiers, but some sort of elite squadron. Their plate mail was uncommon for Imperials, as were the dozens of different weapons on their persons. Judging from the facial scars on most of the men, Locke doubted the weapons were for show.

Locke, Terra and Relm stood on one of the few bridges leading into the walled city. The soldier in front was dressed in more familiar brown leather armor with an equally familiar grey cloak over top. He handed Locke back his knife. They were at the head of a long line; one they had waited in for more than half a day. He had wondered why the line seemed so slow, but there was no need to wonder anymore. The guard liked to chat with nearly every single person that wanted into the city.

All citizens were required to line up for entrance into Tzen, aside from military personnel and several others with special badges. The number of badge-holders was extremely small though, as evidenced by the long line of various peoples of the Empire waiting.

Tents had encircled the great city and multiplied like rabbits with every passing day. Refugees were fleeing to Tzen in huge flocks, camping outside since they could not afford to stay within the city walls. Everyone wanted to be near the vast military might of the Empire. Certainly there was protection aplenty, even if they camped at the very edge of the city. Those tents stretched on for miles and miles and had thousands of soldiers safeguarding them. Locke had never seen anything like it.

Their journey to Tzen had been relatively smooth; they were not attacked by monsters. The roads had been packed with pilgrims though, singing praise for the Empire during the whole journey. There were at least two dozen of rich backgrounds traveling explicitly to camp outside the city walls.

It was utter insanity.

The guard looked behind Locke. "And these two are your sisters, correct? It must have been a dangerous trip if you had to protect these two."

Locke nodded. "Yes, we've been traveling for a while now. It would be nice to settle down and not have to fear the monsters any longer," he despised the words he said but nearly every refugee they had encountered had spoken of the Empire's benevolent protection. He put on his most innocent face and tried not to puke.

The guard's eyes wandered over Terra. Her green hair had been bleached and dyed to a more natural golden-yellow. They had also cut her hair so that it was no longer partway down her back. It hung, just shy of her neckline, in an unkempt but alluring fashion. The end result was quite astonishing. Terra had always been quite attractive, but as a blond she was mesmerizing. Her deep blue eyes seemed to match the new hair color perfectly. She turned heads everywhere even in the pathetic rags they bought in the Nestil market.

Locke had dyed his own hair as well, turning it a shade of yellow to match Terra's. Relm's hair was already blond, so they did not need to dye her hair. They almost looked like a family. Relm's eyes had a similar shade of blue as Terra's so the two easily looked like sisters. Locke's own brown eyes did not blend in as well, but most of the soldiers had paid attention to Terra and Relm.

"It's a shame that a child so young has to run from monsters," the guard said. He lowered to one knee, rubbing Relm's hair in the process. "Don't worry little one, the Empire will protect you now."

Locke rolled his eyes while no one was looking. "We came here so we could stop running, but there seems to be a lot of people," Locke gestured to the fields of tents. "How can the army protect so many? I mean, you can't fit everyone inside the city."

The soldier stood back up. He still looked at Relm with a grin on his face while he answered Locke's question. "The Imperial Army can protect everyone nearby, there's no need to worry about that. We have a great number of sentries on the outskirts. Not a single monster will make it in sight of the tents before we know about it, and not a single monster will make it much further than that. If they attack in great numbers, then the Magitek squadrons will quickly exterminate them."

"That does sound pretty impressive," Locke lied.

"Impressive would be the Magitek armors farther south," the soldier said with a wistful sigh. "Those great machines could burn through a thousand monsters with a single blast. However, the ones here are still quite powerful; you can sleep well as long as we still draw breath."

"That's good to hear. We should head inside then, to see if there are any accommodations," Locke said.

"Find? You won't find anything now," the soldier chuckled. "All the inns have been packed for weeks, ever since the Long Night began. Even now that the clouds have broken up slightly, I doubt it will change the availability of rooms."

Locke frowned. "Then why would so many line up?"

"To shop of course," the soldier said. He seemed annoyed at Locke's question, as if the answer should have been obvious. "The marketplace stretches for many miles and is much safer to buy goods from than those traveling salesmen that circle the tents. I would avoid those travelers; you never know what you're really buying."

"Of course, thank you for the advice," Locke said as he walked past. "Come on girls, let's go inside the city."

Terra was holding Relm's hand when the soldier took a step forward. The Imperial soldier ended up between Locke and Terra.

"If you need a place to stay," the soldier stared into Terra's blue eyes. "You're more than welcome to find me tonight," he said. "I will be at the Bull's Hearth three hours before curfew." He took her hand and kissed it in a gallant fashion. "I would be honored to show you some of the finer pleasures that Tzen has to offer."

Terra looked uncomfortable. "Thank you," she stammered, unsure of what to say.

Locke was irritated. The soldier was disregarding all the unspoken rules of flirting. Here he was, barely two feet away, and the man was approaching his sister. Even if it was just an act, this was still grounds for brotherly-protection. The soldier was abusing his power as an Imperial officer. "Come on Sarah," he said. "Let's go."

Terra walked by the soldier, the man's hungry gaze following her across the bridge.

---

"Stupid corrupt Imperials," Locke grumbled as they made their way through the streets of Tzen. "You're more than welcome to find me tonight," he said in a mockery of the soldier's voice.

Relm giggled. "That's a funny impression," she said.

Locke rolled his eyes. "No less funny that the guard's face, right Sarah?"

Even amongst themselves, they tried to keep from addressing each other by their real names. Aliases had been devised long before they left Nestil, although Relm had decided to change hers shortly after they reached Cartha. Even after a week, there were plenty of times when Locke was about to say their real names, only to sheepishly change it at the last moment.

Terra didn't respond to his joke, as usual.

Locke sighed. He had hoped bringing Terra on a relatively lighthearted trip would brighten her mood. But the opposite had happened; she had just gotten more depressed. In the past, she had put on a charade for Relm. Now she didn't try to look happy.

Tzen was packed, just as the guard had warned them. The streets were completely full, dozens of people on the sidewalks at all times while chocobo-drawn carts passed by on the cobblestone roads. At times, trying to walk through the crowd was like trying to swim upstream. People kept pushing them back and each time made their way past one obstacle, another took its place in the constant flow.

They walked by dozens of warehouses, all filled with machinery and undergoing modifications that would turn them into factories. Locke seemed to recognize a few of the machines, including some cranes. They passed by six more buildings, completed factories that were pumping great gouts of steam from their smokestacks. Finally they made it to the market, a huge bustling place of commerce that put every other town to shame. It seemed like thousands were in the streets. The stores were filled with people; the promenade was bristling with vendors and hawkers of all shapes and sizes, trying to pitch some of the craziest wares imaginable. Although there were a lot more peddlers in Tzen, Locke noticed a lack of the shadier merchants. Unlike the other towns they had passed by, there were no dealers here. At least the Empire had done something right in one of their major cities; Alcatef was horrible drug that was in widespread use. Locke knew a few sympathizers that were totally addicted to it. It was easier to lose oneself in a haze of fantasia than to fight for real change.

The three of them held hands, to ensure they would not get split up in the huge crowd, as they searched for a suitable herb store. Kenneth had suggested they avoided anything cheap, which meant nothing other than a storefront would be suitable. Although Locke had no qualms buying from the stands of traveling businessman, the doctor was quite insistent that nothing other than the best would be acceptable. Considering Setzer's life hung in the balance, Locke did not argue.

Locke was surprised that some of the stores still had goods for sale. It seemed with so many people in the streets, all the shops would have long since been bought out. The storekeepers must have been busy securing supplies and goods to sell. He could see why there were so many vendors though; business was booming despite the preposterous prices. Locke assumed that because the clouds had broken up somewhat, people were willing to spend their life's savings on good cheer.

There were a lot of soldiers in the market. Many were buying merchandise, probably soldiers on their break time having a little fun. Others were chasing girls, and there were certainly no shortage of pretty women willing to entertain them. Locke found his eyes following the finer variety on more than one occasion. But most of the soldiers were actually on duty. Some stood guard near the city lights, probably guarding what was still the primary source of illumination in Tzen. Others watched over the market and got involved whenever a small scuffle would occur. Locke knew that in conditions this crowded, a riot could happen at any moment. The Imperial men made sure that didn't happen.

The herb shop they found was across from a stage of performers. Some brave theater band had decided to perform in the middle of the mob. They drew a great crowd as they danced to an upbeat tune. Locke did not recognize the play but he rarely had anything to do with the performing arts. The only play he had ever seen was the one Celes participated in, back in the Opera House so many months ago.

The inside of the store was quiet. A glance around told Locke the reason, the shop was almost empty of all wares. Locke walked up to the balding storekeeper and inquired about Kenneth's herb. The old man was quite kind but of course they did not have it. The old storekeeper apologized. His store had been quite full earlier, but a great rush in the morning had sold out many of the more popular herbs. As for the rest, a couple soldiers had bought a great deal only an hour or two before. They always bought herbs in great quantities, so the storekeeper felt bad about not being sufficiently prepared. A truly successful businessman would have been able to sell for the entire day, he said. Locke bid the man good day and thanked him for his help. He turned around and explained the situation to Terra and Relm. Terra did not mind exploring Tzen for the afternoon and Relm was enjoying herself. She had been born in Thamasa, a village so small that everyone knew everyone else's names. A city like Tzen was just astounding to her. Just the marketplace alone had more people than she had ever seen in her ten years of life.

They walked back outside and into the great crowd.

Locke felt extremely uncomfortable near so many Imperials. Although it had been his idea and he had great trust in his own plans, it seemed like they were tempting fate. Fortunately, no one had recognized Terra. Though to Locke's dismay, quite a few of the soldiers did notice her. They just noticed her in ways that he did not like. Their hungry looks were dangerous; both for Terra's safety and their attempts to keep a low profile.

They walked around town for another hour, going in circles a few times simply because the crowd forced them. Locke had grown tired from pushing his way through the mob and was about to suggest they take a rest inside one of the many restaurants. While he was looking for a proper place for them to rest though, they noticed the second herb store.

The store was devoid of people, despite the fact that the shelves was completely overflowing with plants and leaves of all colors. Locke was assaulted by the scent of concentrated herbs, a fragrance that he despised. He suppressed the unpleasant memories and decided to hurry so they could leave as quickly as possible.

Since the entire store was empty, the attractive red-haired storekeeper was more than happy to assist them. Locke gave the woman, perhaps Edgar's age, Kenneth's description of the herb.

"Ah, that. I have that in storage," she said.

As the woman headed for the backroom, Locke watched her form in admiration. After the storekeeper was out of sight, he turned back to Relm and Terra. The two girls had not noticed his source of distraction, instead looking at the myriad of herbs that were available on display.

"I've never seen anything like this," Terra was saying. She picked up a few dried leaves with puffy undersides.

"I have, grandpa used to bring this all the time. It's an aumen leaf," Relm pointed to a green sprig that Terra had been looking at.

"That's a pretty good eye you have there, little miss," the storekeeper had returned with a small box in hand. She left the box -- Setzer's only hope for life -- on the counter and knelt so that she was eye to eye with Relm. "Do you like herbs as well?" she asked.

Relm nodded. "Gramps used to take me on walks in the forest all the time. He would point out all sorts of things to me," she smiled widely. "I know all sorts of plants now, like this aumen leaf, and these motherworts," she pointed at yet another plant on display.

The shopkeeper grinned. "That's really nice. I wish I had someone as talented as you to help me out," she said.

Relm beamed.

Locke cleared his throat. He had opened the box and checked the plant on the inside; it matched Kenneth's description exactly. His fingers ran down the sides of the stems as he followed Kenneth's verification procedure. When he was satisfied, he closed the box. "How much is this?" Locke asked. He wanted to leave Tzen as soon as possible. For some reason, this was making him edgy.

The shopkeeper stood up. "Four hundred gil," she said. "It's quite difficult to get these days, and-"

Locke opened his wallet, taking out the money without haggling. "Here, four hundred," he said.

The shopkeeper looked surprised. "My, you're in a hurry but thanks for your business." She took their money and walked back around the counter.

Locke nodded. "Thanks for your help lady," he said waved his hand in appreciation. "Let's go."

"Wait," the shopkeeper had retrieved a small pouch of roots. "What's your name?" she asked Relm.

Relm looked at Locke, who nodded his approval.

"Aria," Relm said. The name she picked was certainly an exotic one.

The shopkeeper gave Locke a quizzical glance.

"I told her not to talk to strangers too much," Locke lied.

"Ah," The red haired woman replied as she looked behind him. "I seem to have more customers. Sorry, I can't play with you any longer Aria. I wanted to see if you knew what these are," she pointed at the bag in her hand.

Locke turned around and froze.

Three extremely large men had just walked in. They were wearing cloaks, otherwise the armor they wore underneath would be plainly visible -- Imperial soldiers. The two larger ones stayed quite far behind the one in the lead.

Probably the ones that had bought out the balding shopkeeper earlier that day, Locke noted. He wondered what soldiers needed so many herbs for as he turned back to Relm and Terra. Relm was staring at the pouch in the shopkeeper's hand, the two whispering names of plant roots to each other. "Come on Aria, let's not waste the nice shopkeeper's time anymore," he said.

Relm looked up at Locke. "Ok big brother," she said with a big smile on her face.

"Locke Cole."

Locke felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He ignored the soldier, pretending that the man was addressing his own comrades.

"You in the brown cloak, Locke."

Locke looked back at the man, he was being addressed now. His heart was beating and he could feel a drop of sweat running down his back. "I'm sorry, were you talking to me? I think you have me confused," he said with his best impression of a peasant afraid of an Imperial soldier. The impression was not hard, he was already scared.

The man pulled down his hood. His hair, shaven smooth on top, seemed strangely familiar. His brown eyes were sharp, like a predator's.

"Locke Cole," he continued without faltering. "Your hair is a different color, but that's acceptable."

Locke's arm strayed to the dagger he kept hidden by his hips. This was a dangerous situation, but his heart was only speeding up in anticipation. He had survived worse problems before. He could handle this. He had to handle this. Terra and Relm depended on him. They had no plans in place for contingency situations.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Relm screamed.

Locke's eyes darted to the shopkeeper. His body froze in shock.

The woman had pulled a knife from behind the counter. Locke felt his blood boil as he watched the shopkeeper lift Relm off the ground, the blade only inches from Relm's neck. He pulled his blade free of its concealing sheath.

"You-" Terra started. Her eyes were wide in surprise, her arm halfway out in the motion of a spell.

"Don't!" the woman threatened. "If you move again Terra, she-" the woman motioned at Relm, "-dies."

Locke felt goose bumps down his back. The woman knew Terra's name. Suddenly, he realized what had happened.

They had been tricked.

"There are only two ways out of this, Locke," the woman continued. "In the first case, this little girl's throat is slit, then you die, and then Terra dies. The second case, you will drop the dagger and the two of you will come with me peacefully."

Locke's eyes checked the door. The two men there were at ease, but they looked ready to cut him down the moment he moved. His heart pounded until he was dizzy, his world spinning as he struggled to think of a course of action.

The other man, standing only a couple feet from him, had his cloak hooked back behind his scabbard.

This was bad.

"You're running out of time," the woman warned. The knife was ever closer to Relm's neck.

This was really bad.

With all eyes concentrated on Locke, no one noticed Terra's right arm moving up and pointing at the woman.

At least, no one but the shopkeeper herself.

Before Terra even whispered the first word of a spell, the knife was a breath away from Relm's neck. Relm was terrified; her eyes were concentrated on the blade that threatened to end her life. Cold metal pressed against her smooth skin and drew a single drop of blood at the point.

"Have you ever seen a child die in front of your eyes, Terra?" the woman asked. Her voice was icy cold. Her expression was a far cry from the friendly look just moments earlier. "I assure you, you're moments from finding out. Is the cost worth it to you? Because losing this little girl means nothing to me."

Terra dropped her hand, unable to bear the thought of causing Relm's death. "No, please," she begged. "I won't do anything. Please, just let her go," her voice was filled with despair as she pleaded with the storekeeper.

"Locke?" the woman turned her attention back to him.

Locke's throat was dry. They had no options. They had walked into this trap without realizing it. By the time it had been sprung, it was already far too late. He gritted his teeth in anger; irate at the fact that the Imperials were threatening a child. Above all, he was enraged at his own stupidity; at his wanton disregard for the danger they had been in the whole day. He had underestimated the Empire and now Relm and Terra would pay for his mistake.

The handle of his dagger dug into his palms, his knuckles white from the death grip on the weapon. He could do nothing now. The moment he moved, Relm would die.

His dagger clattered on the floor.

"That's a good boy," the woman's voice mocked them with its effrontery. "I seem to be lacking manners today, but I'm sure you'll forgive me with time. Since I know all of your names, it would be quite rude for me not to introduce myself."

The red-haired woman had a dangerous grin on her face. Locke had once found her looks to be captivating but at the moment, her gorgeous smile was nauseating.

"My name is Danielle Meras -- General Danielle Meras -- and I welcome you to the Imperial City of Tzen." 


	5. Imperial Affairs

**The Fifth Chapter - Imperial Affairs**

Danielle Meras had a plain office. It was once the study of a rich aristocrat but that had changed once martial law was declared. Before the Fall of the Island, the military presence in Tzen had been a small garrison housed within the confines of the barracks, attached to the city walls. The initial riots during the first hours of the Long Night had required a sweeping change in their attitudes though. Troops were deployed to quiet down the populace and laws made to restrict the possibilities of more chaos. Then she removed both the Governor and his provincial officers from power, they had mostly been corrupt, puppets, or both. There was no need for the delays caused by pen pushers when swift action was needed.

Her mobilization of troops from every army base within the region was met with great opposition, but those dissenters were silenced by the monster hoards that descended on their fair cities. Instead, now she was praised for her forward thinking. The few that continued with vocal outbursts condemning her actions had mostly suffered horrible deaths at the hands of monsters.

With her emergency powers increased to a point where she was the sole leader of several million Imperial citizens, her headquarters had to be housed within Tzen, the capital of the region. The only suitable position had been a private mansion of a man unwilling to assist the Empire.

That man had met with an unfortunate accident the following hour.

Danielle brushed aside the many papers that littered a beautifully crafted wooden desk. They were reports from half a dozen cities under her control; none of which she cared to read. Her aides would be the ones that would deal with such trivial matters. The papers only served one purpose for Danielle: to give the appearance that she was always occupied. Though recently she had no need to pretend, it was an old habit that was difficult to break. The numerous pages were pushed aside with little care, clearing enough room so that Danielle could rest her hands on the mahogany. Her sharp eyes studied the two guests in her presence.

Locke was still fuming, although he had calmed down a great deal when they appeared to be no immediate danger. Danielle had assured him that Relm would not be harmed as long as they behaved. She had then sent Relm away, citing her presence as a distraction to the affairs at hand.

Terra was still taking in Danielle's manner. Her previous experiences with generals of the Empire had each been quite peculiar. Celes flipped between childish and mature with the flick of a switch. Even though she often lambasted them for their lack of professional attitudes, her idea of proper clothing had been a pompous white cape with a skintight leotard beneath. On the other hand, Leo had always been incredibly serious with cold looks despite his warm personality. He had always stayed in military uniform with dozens of medals decorating his breast.

As for Kefka, he was just insane. Terra left it at that.

Danielle had requested they wait in her office while she changed into something more comfortable. Terra had not expected the modest shopkeeper's outfit to have actually been her common wear and they ended up waiting nervously in her office. The two big men with emotionless faces had stood guard watching them, making sure they did not touch anything on Danielle's desk.

The third man, the one that had seemed to be in charge until Danielle had pulled her knife, was no longer with them. Terra had thought he looked familiar and was almost sad to see him go.

When Danielle had returned, she was wearing a simple unassuming uniform. There was not a medal in sight, quite the opposite of General Leo. Terra wondered where the command bars were; she thought all soldiers had them. Leo's had been a trio of stars above all his medals. Then again, none of the guards in the entire mansion had saluted the General as she passed by. Perhaps Danielle wasn't as concerned about military attitudes as Leo had been.

"Valerio," Danielle gestured at one of the two men. "The usual, but try to hurry."

"Of course," the man on the right side of the door nodded. He unfolded his giant arms and walked out of the office.

Locke gave Danielle a look of bewilderment.

Danielle ignored him and instead leafed through a pile of untouched folders at her side. She mumbled to herself a few times, tossing a couple reports onto the mysteriously empty shelves in her office. It appeared that she had cleared out whatever collection of books the late owner had kept in his study.

"Ah," Danielle found what she was searching for. She opened the green folder and spread the materials on her desk.

Locke strained to see what she was reading, but the letters were too small and he was too far away. He could feel eyes on the back of his neck; the remaining guard seemed to be unhappy by his curiosity. Reminding himself of Relm, Locke sat tight and tried not to act suspicious.

The door to the office opened and Valerio strolled back in with a tray in one hand.

It was tea, steaming hot, and biscuits. There were three portions, each served on fine porcelain dishes.

Danielle gestured at the tray on her desk. "Do help yourselves," she said as she took her portion. "I'm afraid that I only have Jidoorian Duchess Tea, but I find it quite refreshing and tasteful. It's a hard blend of leaves to obtain these days, but even a General has to indulge herself once in a while."

Terra stared at the glistening biscuits; they were freshly made and probably removed from the oven just this hour. She was hungry, but something felt extremely wrong. She was unsure of what to do so she glanced over at Locke for advice.

Locke folded his arms with a suspicious look on his face. He was not eating or drinking.

Danielle was taking a sip of tea when she noticed Locke's attitude. She put her cup down with great care, but the fine ceramic clattered on the plate anyways.

"If I wanted to kill you, I would have threatened your darling Relm, had Starson gut you while your back was turned," she pointed at Locke. "And I would have thrown my dagger into your skull while you were busy watching Locke choke in his own blood," she pointed at Terra. "Then I would have proceeded to kill the child, perhaps with my bare hands, all without having to spend more than twenty seconds of my lifetime with you three." Her words had a sing-song quality to it, despite the threat behind them.

Her eyes narrowed and her tone hardened. "Realize you are testing my patience right now. Enjoy the pleasantries that I offer before I rescind my kind gestures."

Locke and Terra stared at her in mute astonishment. As Danielle began to chew on one of the biscuits, Terra decided to take a plate. Her hands shook as she tried to balance both the cup of tea and biscuit. She set the plate on her lap and hungrily bit into the pastry.

Danielle finished her plate and leaned back into her chair, all the while sipping at her tea. She had a pleasant look on her face as she enjoyed her drink.

Locke didn't like tea, but he drank it anyways. He watched Danielle carefully. So far, her attitude seemed varied and chaotic. He vaguely remembered Marcus' warnings. She was power-hungry and a decorated war hero. Locke wished Marcus had given them better details. It would be helpful to know what to expect from this woman. Everything she had done was so far contradictory to Locke's expectations of the Empire. The last time he had been caught was in the Magitek factory, and the Empire had nearly killed them outright even with Celes on their side.

"Well then," Danielle said. She gestured to the papers in front of her. "I'd like to ask a couple questions, and I expect you to answer honestly."

Locke set his cup of tea down. "I really dou-"

"Terra will answer my questions," Danielle interrupted. "You are a conman and I trust you far less than you trust me," she glared at Locke. "Additionally, you open your mouth too often."

Locke quieted down, unsure of whether to apologize or to speak up in Terra's defense. He was responsible for this situation. He should protect Terra from the results of his incompetence.

"Now, Terra," Danielle's voice grew soft and kind like it had been when she was acting as an herb shopkeeper. "Where have you been since your little charade in Thamasa?"

Terra swallowed the lump in her throat. "Well, we went to Albrook," she answered.

Danielle was silent, patiently waiting for Terra to continue. When she didn't, Danielle sighed out loud. "Keep going and don't stop until I tell you to," she ordered.

Terra's nervously nodded. "We took an airship to the Floating Continent," she conveniently ignored Marcus' involvement. "We were going to try to stop Gestahl and Kefka from making a big mistake, but when we confronted them they had already begun abusing the Statues."

Locke studied Danielle's face. She was unsurprised by anything Terra had said and her eyes didn't even show a hint of confusion when Terra referred to the Statues. He doubted the Emperor would have kept too much secret from his generals, but something told him that she should not have known about the Statues. Strago had made it apparent that all knowledge of the Goddesses had fallen into legend.

"Kefka ended up betraying Gestahl," Terra continued. "We tried to stop Kefka and unbalanced the Statue configuration. I fell unconscious after that but we escaped the Floating Continent and well, you probably saw what happened."

Danielle nodded. Locke was surprised she took Kefka's betrayal in stride. He doubted any of the Emperor's guards had managed to escape the island. Even if they did, surviving the blasts of light was probably impossible. He doubted any pilot of the Imperial Air Force could have landed the way Setzer did, and even with the gambler's skill they had paid a horrible price that day.

"We crashed the airship in the mountains and spent the last few weeks making our way here," Terra lied. "It was a long journey, we nearly died of starvation and trying to find our bearings in the darkness was close to impossible. Being lost in the wilderness with nothing to eat or drink was terrifying," she said. There was plenty of truth in her words, but she breezed over plenty of details including Setzer and Strago's injuries and their little stopover in Nestil.

Locke showed nothing on his face but he was relieved that Terra had picked up on some of his skills. She had not lied but merely forgot important pieces of information. It was difficult for people to pick up on the difference between intentional and accidental ignorance. He used the technique often and it was fortunate that Terra was using it now.

"Strange, why would you come straight to Tzen for laryl?" Danielle asked.

Laryl was the herb they bought. The same boxed herb that was lying on Danielle's desk in front of them.

The question had caught Terra off-guard. "Well..." she trailed off, trying to buy more time as she thought of a suitable reason. Unfortunately, she did not know the uses of the herb. In fact, aside from the precious little Kenneth told them, Terra knew absolutely nothing about the item would save their poisoned comrade.

Locke did not know any of the additional uses for laryl either. He did not think to ask Kenneth. By the manner in which Danielle was judging Terra, it was obvious that she knew her herbs and was testing her honesty. If he were the one being questioned it would not be a problem. He would lie and simply feign misinformation being spread to him. But Terra was not the accomplished trickster he was, and he had foolishly forgotten to teach her the basics of going undercover. His arrogance would be the death of them.

Terra stared up at the ceiling unwillingly as she tried to think of something. She looked increasingly panicky.

"Well?" Danielle asked, fully aware that Terra was hiding something.

Terra cleared her suddenly dry throat. "Well, the herb uh-" her hands were shaking and her words were no better. It was obvious she was lying.

Despite the obvious charade before her, Danielle did not bat an eye or grow angry at their attempted fabrication. Instead she spoke in an astonishingly calm voice. "Terra, how many fingers do you have?"

Terra blinked, confused by the sudden change of questions. "Fi-five," she stuttered.

"Wrong, you have four," Danielle corrected her. "You have four fingers and one thumb. My second question: which finger is the most useful?"

Terra's eyes were darting side to side; Locke knew she was frightened and nervous. He stretched out to take her hand and calm her.

Behind him, Valerio cleared his throat in such a fashion that made Locke freeze in terror.

"Answer the question, Terra."

"The index finger," she stuttered again.

Locke knew the General was testing Terra. She was testing her composure with questions that should not have been intellectually difficult, that way she could read Terra's emotions like a book. It was obviously working.

"Very good," Danielle's voice was well-composed; tranquil but masking an underlying threat. "Now, why did you buy the dried laryl?"

Although the strange questions had thrown Terra off-guard, it had also given her time to think of a plausible story. "Locke needed it to help with an infection from the crash," she lied.

Danielle's eyes narrowed. She glanced over at Locke for a moment and then returned her scrutiny to Terra. "Baldric," she said without taking her deadly gaze off of a very nervous half-Esper.

She waited for a moment. Presumably Baldric had responded with body language, but Locke did not catch it.

"Bring me the child's index finger."

Terra's eyes went wide.

"Which one?" the guard asked.

"From the right hand," Danielle replied instantly.

"You promised not to hurt her!" Locke shouted. Unable to keep silent any longer, he was halfway out of his chair before a powerful hand held him back.

Danielle's eyes silenced him. He had never seen such a deadly threat before without any accompanying weapon gestures. The hand on his shoulder forced him back into his seat.

"I had two simple requests: you to shut up and you," her piercing gaze returned to Terra, "to answer honestly."

Behind them, they heard Baldric leave the room. The door closed with an audible click.

A little moan escaped from Terra's throat. Her eyes closed but were unable to contain a single tear that ran down her cheek.

"Poison -- Setzer's poisoned," she whispered. "Please, don't hurt her. She's just a little girl."

Danielle folded her hands, emotionless and unmoved.

Terra's heart pounded. Her blue eyes pleaded with Danielle. "Please," she begged. Her vision was hazy from tears. "It won't happen again."

"Baldric," Danielle said in a loud voice. She waited a moment before Baldric opened the door to her office. "At ease."

Baldric returned to his position.

Terra breathed a sigh of relief, tears flowing freely as she sank back into her seat. Locke felt the same, but he knew that it would only get worse from here. As long as Danielle held Relm hostage, they could do nothing.

Danielle unfolded her hands. "Where is Setzer?" she asked.

Terra sagged visibly. Her head was throbbing and her breaths still short from sudden shock.

"I asked a question Terra. Where is Setzer?" Danielle repeated harshly.

Terra did not want to answer but it was obvious Danielle would not give them any shred of mercy. If she lied again, they would hurt Relm. She couldn't take that chance. What choice did she have?

"Nestil," she whispered in defeat.

Locke averted his eyes. It was as he expected. The General would force them to betray their comrades. It was not Terra's fault; she had never been trained for anything like this. She was still trying to protect Relm. There was no one to protect her though; not from the pain of betraying one's closest friends.

Once again he had failed to protect her.

"Who else is in Nestil?" Danielle asked again. She pressed the advantage while Terra was still reeling.

"Edgar, Sabin-"

Locke buried his head into his hands. They were doomed.

"-Cyan and Siana," Terra's voice was filled with despair. Her hands lay lifeless at her sides. She blankly stared at her lap and waited for the next question.

Danielle was silent. Her eyes had not left Terra's face for the past five minutes. "Baldric," she said in a dangerous tone.

Terra's eyes went wide again. "And Strago," she added. "But he's hurt too, please, I forgot," she pleaded. "I didn't mean to! Please."

Locke knew Terra would break down at any moment. There was no resistance left in her. He wished he could do something, anything!

Danielle unfolded her hands and leaned back into her chair. She seemed to be pondering something.

At last, she spoke again. "Where are your friends staying?" she asked.

Terra stared at her feet for a long time. This question was different. The other questions, as bad as they had been, did not directly hurt her friends. To divulge the location of where they slept though, it was total and complete treachery.

"I think the right eye would suffice," Danielle said as if she were discussing entrees at a meal.

"With a blacksmith named Garrett," Terra quickly whispered in defeat.

"Ah," Danielle replied. She did not seem to commemorate her victory, as total and dominating as it was. Instead she was reserved; reflecting on the new information with the detail of a trained tactician.

Locke could see elemental beams in his mind's eye, ripping apart their friends as they slept. A vision of brimstone and fire raining down in Nestil as the Imperials ambushed and killed them all. They had lost.

It was over.

"Alright," she said as she stood. "Valerio," she made her way over to the guard. "I'm going to get supper and finish some little tasks. See to it that they do not touch my desk." She turned to Baldric. "Serve them dinner, but keep them confined here."

The two men nodded.

Danielle turned to Terra. The half-Esper was too drained to do anything more than stare at her feet. The shame of what she had done was slowly sinking in; despair and hopelessness mixed in a volatile combination. Her breathing came in ragged gasps as images of her friends dying came fresh to mind.

Death and destruction; that's all she brought.

Something deep inside her rumbled. It caught her off-guard, but Terra fought the feeling until it dissipated.

"I expect your continued co-operation when I return," Danielle said to her back.

The door shut with an audible click.

Terra broke down and cried.

---

Their dinners were cold by the time Danielle got back. Neither Locke nor Terra had touched the food. Terra had been unable to even move and Locke was lost in his own thoughts of self-loathing. Little did Locke realize how well his thoughts mirrored Terra's.

Baldric and Valerio took turns as guards but there was little to observe. They were disconsolate; too dejected to even speak with one another, much less cause trouble for their captors.

Danielle took her seat again. She had brought a lovely candlestick along despite the room being lit by electrical lights. The small flame danced on her desk while she directed Baldric to dispose of the dinners.

"Well then, it appears you have wasted the food I provided. Unfortunate, considering there are people starving outside," Danielle said.

Neither of them dared reply.

Danielle sighed. She gathered the papers on her desk and slipped them back into the green folder. She examined the two and concluded that Locke was the only one capable of any response to stimulus. She slid the folder to Locke with one hand.

Locke gave Danielle a curious look before he opened the green folder.

Inside were five sheets of paper. The writing was small but legible. He read quickly. Most of the sheets were summaries of people. No, Locke corrected himself, they were summaries of him, Edgar, Sabin... all of them were detailed in the folder. Descriptions of their looks, events of the past, known relations, even a section detailing their threat to a typical Imperial squad; highly rigorous dissertations on each one of them expressed in an objective fashion. Danielle must have requested research on them quite a few days ago; this could not have been hastily assembled. Perhaps weeks in advance, Locke thought.

The last sheet was the worse though. It was not very detailed but just reading it on Imperial letterhead chilled Locke to the bones. How could she have had this? A concise summary of all their actions in Nestil had been in her lap the whole time.

Locke glanced up at Danielle. "You knew," he accused.

"And you are not yet dead," she replied with fervor. "Connect the dots."

Locke stared at the report again. There was enough detail in it for Danielle to have easily set up the trap in the herb store. That explained a bit, but it didn't make sense. There were too many unanswered questions in his mind.

He glanced back up. "Why do you want us alive?" he asked the most relevant of many concerns.

"Finally, some intelligence has shown," Danielle remarked. A single finger was tracing a design of sorts on the mahogany. "I have tolerated your presence because I require your help," she answered.

"Our help?" Locke repeated.

Danielle tapped her finger on the desk. "Yes, your help. I need it and your cooperation. The information on your various backgrounds was enough to convince me of your usefulness. Whether or not my decision is correct will be decided by your actions tonight, but those concerns right now are irrelevant."

Locke looked over at Terra. She was still numb and her eyes red from crying, but she was listening to Danielle. Whether she was listening in fear or out of curiosity, Locke did not know.

"You could have just asked," Locke grumbled.

Danielle raised an eyebrow. "Spare me the witty comments. I had hoped we would talk about this on full stomachs, but this is your fault and not my own."

"What about Relm?" Terra asked. Her voice was raspy and dry.

"Baldric, get some water for our guests," Danielle ordered. "As for Relm," she addressed Terra. "She's having quite a lot of fun in the nursery. There are many other girls her age there, mostly because many of my soldiers have children that cannot be taken care of by family. If you wish, you may visit her later."

Terra thanked Baldric as he handed her a glass of water. She drank it nervously while her eyes constantly darted to the green folder in front of Locke. "Why did you make me go through all of that if you already knew everything?" she asked after her throat was moistened.

Danielle folded her hands. "As a test, which you failed," she replied. "Unfortunate because I expected a bit more out of you. However, despite my better judgment, I still require your assistance."

"And if we say no?" Locke asked.

Danielle unfolded her hands. "I rather not threaten you again; your willing co-operation is really the best for this mission."

Locke wondered if she actually meant the words she said. So far, nothing she had done had made any sense. She had captured them in a devious trap and threatened them for information already at her disposal. Now that she was hated by both himself and Terra, she wanted their assistance given freely. Marcus had been right; she was totally insane.

"What do you want me to do?" Terra asked quietly. She resigned herself to doing whatever it took to keep Relm safe.

Danielle finally smiled again. "Well, that is a good question. I take it you speak for both of you?"

"Yeah, we'll help," Locke sighed.

"Then I'll have to explain quite a couple of things."

---

"Six weeks has passed since you were last in Imperial territory," Danielle said after Baldric arrived with more biscuits and tea. "However, given your experiences in Albrook are restricted to the outskirts, I would say twice that number. After all, several months have passed since you were in Vector."

Locke shrugged. "What does this have to do with our willing cooperation?"

"You were moved when the Espers annihilated regions of Vector and killed well over twenty-thousand innocent civilians," Danielle reiterated. "Although I was not present, I understand that such deaths could not be ignored by your consciences. Subsequently you agreed to help Emperor Gestahl in approaching the ones responsible."

Terra nodded her head slowly.

"You have been in the outskirts of the Empire, away from civilization, for weeks. You have spent another week on a journey with refugees from one of the northernmost settlements we have. You have seen the fields of tents outside and likely heard many horror stories from those fleeing the south. Does it not spark your curiosity as to what has happened to cause such stunning changes to this world?"

Locke's brow wrinkled. "Well I did wonder, but I assumed the dark clouds and the beams of light pretty much caused it."

Danielle raised an eyebrow. "The Fall of the Island and this Long Night will be recorded in the annals of history. Your ability to underestimate the degree of terror is somewhat disturbing," she said.

"We have been somewhat busy with our own," Locke defended. "Why would we care for your Empire?"

"Perhaps because you caused the Long Night?"

Terra reeled at that accusation. Her hands began to shake again, never thinking that they had been the ones to personally cause such destruction. They had moved the Statues to stop Kefka, yes, but they had also disturbed the balance of magic. Their cause had been noble but the cost...

"That's beside the point though. What is important is that the destruction of the Floating Island caused a great number of difficulties in the Empire; difficulties that I was weary of the moment Emperor Gestahl raised the continent. I was not alone with such concerns; there are more generals than myself in the ranks of the army."

Locke blinked. He suddenly recalled Marcus' thoughts from the weeks before. "Civil war," he said in recollection. "You're talking about a civil war."

"Very good. I see that the traitors that aided you have given you a degree of insight into the workings of the Empire," Danielle said.

She knew about Marcus. Locke was surprised. The folder of research had only been on them. There was no information on Marcus or any of his men.

"Don't look so shocked. You continuously underestimate the Empire," Danielle replied to Locke's unspoken concerns. "You are quite correct though, we are currently in the midst of a civil war."

That explained the refugees, but not their praise of the Empire. Locke knew he had to listen carefully. Danielle had probably carefully picked everything she would say in order to manipulate and control them. She was devious and unpredictable. He had to be very careful what to trust.

"Do you recognize the name Anson Tilton?" Danielle asked them.

"No," Locke replied.

Terra also shook her head.

"Unfortunate, it would have been interesting if you knew him," Danielle sighed wistfully. "I would have expected you to have met the man in the Magitek Factory," she pointed at Locke. "Anson Tilton was one of the best researchers, second only to Cid. I believe you know Cid quite well."

Locke and Terra nodded together. They had told Terra everything that had happened in the Magitek Factor while she was comatose in Zozo.

"Anson is quite an interesting young man. He's ingenious, to a fault, and has been caught experimenting on himself in the past. Quite abnormal, would you not agree?"

No less than your actions, Locke thought.

"Cid had left his role as head of development since the debacle with former-general Celes Chere, another event that you are more than familiar with. In his stead, Anson pushed a mighty new project that you will soon be familiar with. However, with his new responsibilities and powers, Anson has had a few..." Danielle searched for the proper word, "-delusions."

Locke glanced over at Terra. She had grabbed a few biscuits, probably as hungry as he, and started chewing. However, she seemed afraid to eat too loudly, as if Danielle might lose her kind attitude and threaten Relm again.

Not entirely a fantasy, Locke thought sadly. Danielle might do something like that.

"In Palazzo's and Gestahl's absence -- along with the deaths of two senior Generals and dozens of the most high ranking men in the Empire thanks to the Esper attack -- the task of Vector's defense along with the control of the Core fell on General Hector Caleigh. He's a man of little note; one of the many brownnosers that make their way up into the ranks. I don't like him."

Locke had never heard of this General. Then again, he had never really looked into the specifics of the Empire's military. There was precious little information like that, and even then only Edgar or Banon had access to it. The Empire had not exactly made it easy for anyone to devise the state of their armed forces.

"One of the reasons I despise Caleigh is because he's a simple moron. He prides himself as a warrior amongst children -- a macho-man -- and he's a total prude," Danielle explained. Her tone remained kind, although there was definitely hate when she repeated Caleigh's name. "Somehow, Anson managed to sway Caleigh to his cause just three days after the Long Night began."

Danielle paused and took a sip of tea before continuing.

"Anson has declared himself Emperor."

"Wow," Locke said.

Danielle gave him a mocking smile. "Yes, with the apparent demise of Gestahl and his total lack of legitimate heirs, the Empire was leaderless for a few days. Now Anson has taken the title; resting it on his control of the Capital, Caleigh's control of the Core, the consent of a corrupt House of Lords, and his position as the highest ranking civilian in the Empire."

Her eyes narrowed. "Naturally, field commanders such as myself disagreed. The Emperor is our highest authority; the role should have befallen a proper general such as Leo Christophe. To say that we were displeased would be an understatement, especially after we found out the reason why the House of Lords propped Anson as their new Head of State. Apparently, they had dared to remove Emperor Gestahl from power when the Floating Continent appeared. High treason is not looked upon lightly, especially by generals like myself. Anson Tilton and his House of Lords are criminals, and allowing them to rule is unacceptable."

"So you went to war with him? Isn't the Core far bigger than the region around Tzen?" Locke asked. He knew he was out of line asking such questions but his curiosity got the better of him.

Danielle ignored him. "Unfortunately, all our senior generals are dead," Danielle replied tactfully. "Leo is gone, may his soul rest in peace. As for Kefka, he died with the Emperor. The other two you have never met, their deaths caused by the Esper strike on the capital."

That was their first confirmation that Kefka had died. If Danielle knew the fate of that insane lunatic, then...

"What about Celes?" Locke blurted out.

Danielle shrugged. "Without a proper command, she only has a title that was hastily given back. She would not be able to lead even if she still lives."

Locke felt his hopes sink. Danielle did not know if Celes was alive.

"Either way, there are no military commanders that outrank -- even informally -- the remaining generals in the army. Considering the type of person Anson is, I suggested to my fellow peers that the best course of action would be to remove him from Vector, finish off Caleigh for treason, execute the House of Lords, and then deal with the issue of an Emperor in peace."

Of course that was the best course of action. Declare war against your own and kill thousands, Locke thought sardonically.

"Both Lilienthal and Drummond agreed," Danielle continued.

"Who?" Locke asked.

Danielle sighed. "Remiel Lilienthal was formerly the governor of Alfort-Brougham. That is the province that includes the city of Albrook, the port of Eggleston and much of the southeastern territories. As for the other, you would probably recognize Drummond's first name: Maverick."

"The Maverick," Locke repeated. "He invaded Maranda and slew thousands of innocent children in the following weeks to punish them for their resistance."

Danielle nodded. "A well-deserved name, as if his parents knew he was utterly insane before he was born. Lilienthal is quite the opposite, so the fact that both agreed to my suggestion shows the justice behind it."

Locke wondered if Remiel Lilienthal would live up to the insanity that every general, except Celes, had displayed.

"Under the three of us, nearly half of the military might of the Empire was at our command. The rest lay in Caleigh's hands. Fortunately, we agreed in an exchange of letters that the Coreward contingents were ill-prepared for a real fight; whereas our armies had readying for assaults on your precious northern countries."

She was referring to Figaro, Narshe, and possibly more.

"Four divisions under my command marched south to Vector," Danielle said. "Numbers similar to that marched from the southeast and west, under Lilienthal's and Drummond's commands."

Something told Locke that he should not be privy to such knowledge. He wondered why Danielle was telling them so much.

"In a few short weeks, we had broken through nearly every single part of the Core and managed to siege Vector. Eight thousand Magitek units attacking in tandem against an equal force rallied in the streets of the Capital. They used our own citizens as shields, and we rained hell on them. Thousands upon thousands of Tek missiles tore the region to pieces; it lit up battlefield like the sun peeking through the clouds."

Danielle's voice took on a distant tone. She had been at the battle and images of the chaos were fresh in her mind.

"In barely two weeks of fighting, both in Vector and in disputed areas around the Core, there were roughly fifty thousand dead soldiers. Civilian casualties are estimated at nearly a quarter of a million throughout the Core. More on the outskirts where panicking from the dark skies have caused riots of huge proportions. I haven't even mentioned the monsters that have decided to wreck havoc on civilization just days into the Vector siege."

Terra's eyes were wide. Locke could not imagine the amount of carnage being released. It made the Esper strike look like a mere joke.

"But Vector was reduced; the Core a shadow of its former strength," Danielle sighed. "Then, moments before the final strike on Vector's strategic reserves that still numbered tens of thousands, we were betrayed by Drummond."

Danielle leaned back with a look of sadness on her face. She sighed heavily, one finger softly rubbing a dark spot on the mahogany desk. "His attacks on Lilienthal were made to look like troops from my command. Our alliance vanished in a storm of fire, the retreat bloody, and right now we're in the midst of a tedious stalemate. Currently, there are no attempts at any sort of resolution. The pigeons are ignored and real messengers killed. The monsters continue to attack our positions and the Core is chaos incarnate."

"What do you want us to do about it?" Locke asked. "We're just two people."

"As long as the Empire remains fragmented as it is right now, the civilians will be ignored. Their cries of pain will fall on deaf ears preparing for war. The monsters are more powerful than ever and we are weaker than we have ever been," she took another sip of tea.

"Lilienthal has responded amicably to requests for a cessation of hostilities. Although my forces are still arrayed defensively against both, a four-way war is currently unacceptable to anyone but perhaps Drummond."

"However, Lilienthal will not discuss any terms of a treaty unless I provide something that, until now, I could not."

Danielle glanced at Terra. "He wants to talk to you. He wants to have a conversation that is free of duress," she said with a hint of disbelief.

"How did he know Terra was-" Locke began

"How is irrelevant; why is immaterial," Danielle cut him off. "The point is that Lilienthal has asked for your presence, half-Esper, and my remaining forces are dedicated to defense against the monsters. Another string of battles -- another war -- is unacceptable. Although Tzen is safe because I held back much of my forces, the Core is in disarray. Monsters feed on the sick, injured and helpless. Those that don't die by the beasts fall to disease or hunger. My staff estimate that if we cannot resolve the current situation, within two months we'll be looking at another quarter million dead. With winter only three months away, millions more will fall to the cold or starve to death. As a soldier, I will not stand idly by while my people are dying out there!"

Her eyes were soft as she regarded Terra. Her voice was kind and warm. "You have the chance to save those thousands, all you have to do is talk to Lilienthal," she explained. "Is that so difficult?"

Terra stared blankly into her lap. The last time she had agreed to something similar, the Empire had killed off all the espers and raised the Floating Continent. This was once again being done in the name of power. She knew it was a mistake, but it was still the immediate lives of two-hundred and fifty thousand; millions once winter arrived.

Locke already knew, by the look of resignation on her face, that she had decided to do it. Once again, they would be pawns for the Empire. Yet he knew they had a degree of freedom at the moment. This was still haggling, even if it was basically at the point of a sword. Danielle needed them to help her. He could possibly bargain for their lives and more.

"Alright, we'll go willingly so that Remiel gets what he wants," Locke said. "On two conditions," he added.

Danielle waited.

"The guaranteed safety of me, Terra, Relm and our friends in Nestil, which includes you delivering this package," he tapped the box of laryl, "in secret to the doctor that is helping us. You already know his name," he gestured at the green folder.

"Acceptable," Danielle said without hesitation. "What is the second request?"

"You let Relm come with us," Locke replied.

"No," Danielle answered. "Do you think I would be so stupid as to let you run off with all the cards in your hands? I can guarantee her safety, so long as you keep your part of the bargain, and I will also agree to hand her back to you when you return from Albrook. You will not get a more agreeable deal than that."

"Alright," Terra agreed. Locke shot her a glare. He had wanted Relm away from danger. How could she consent to something like that?

Danielle visibly relaxed. "Very well then, I will introduce you to the men that will escort you to Albrook. It's a dangerous journey and you will need to be protected."

"I want to see Relm first," Terra said.

Danielle shrugged. "Of course, I promised you that much and I am a woman of honor."

Locke doubted that very much.

---

The siren was completely unexpected.

Locke snapped out of his troubled thoughts when it sounded and he was not the only that had been surprised. Beside him Baldric, if he remembered correctly, was equally concerned.

Terra was still having her chat with Relm. They had spent the last hour with her. She was unharmed, to their relief, and was actually making friends. The nursery was a fine place and filled with kids; all were children of single-parent soldiers like Danielle had explained to them. It was heartening to know that Relm was enjoying herself with some new friends, even if it was forced upon her.

Locke waited for Terra to finish some last words of comfort for Relm. He looked at Baldric but decided against asking about the siren. It was doubtful that Baldric would answer.

"Be strong, ok?" Terra said to Relm.

"Don't worry Terra, I'll be fine," Relm said before the two exchanged a long hug.

The door to their room, a guest room attached to the nursery, opened. Danielle and her other guard stormed through. Her red hair was rustled and she still wore the unassuming standard Imperial uniform, though the ugly brown clothes only made her beauty stand out more. Her flawless features could probably sway any man to do as she wanted; though at the moment she looked ready to drink the blood of a thousand children.

"Valerio," she addressed the man that had stayed with Locke and Terra. Locke sighed, the two guards looked exactly the same and he had yet to tell the difference with any degree of certainty. Their emotionless faces only made it more difficult to tell them apart. "Find Starson; we'll be in the Central Square."

Valerio nodded before he left.

Danielle gestured at Terra and Locke. "I'm afraid your little meeting will have to be cut short. As you might hear, we have an emergency."

Terra stood up and urged Relm to leave the guest room they were in.

"What's happening?" Locke asked.

Danielle pointed into the air. "You will get to see firsthand the terrors from which I have protected the citizens of the Empire. This is what will befall millions of people in the Core if Lilienthal does not meet with you."

They followed her out of the mansion, an additional two squadrons waiting for her at the entrance, and made their way through the deserted city streets. It was after curfew and the soldiers were quite strict enforcing it. Not a single soul was on the roads that had been packed just hours before.

The Central Square was not really in the center of Tzen. At one point it might have been, but development at the perimeter of city had totally changed that. Still, it was principal to the city's commercial lifeline. A great statue of Gestahl was on top an equally magnificent fountain, ringed with flowers and well maintained trees. The buildings that opened into the Central Square were some of the most prestigious shops and inns available in the city. Since those places were full of the rich that had fled to Tzen, Locke wondered what the soldiers were doing here.

The square will had yet another squadron of soldiers awaiting their arrival. The sirens continued to sound as men ran around the city preparing for something. Somehow, Locke knew that whatever was en route was going to be quite a horror.

"What's coming anyways?" Locke asked. He still remembered the guard at the entrance of Tzen; there had been quite a bit of talk about sentries. There should be no reason for any monsters to make it so deep into the city.

Danielle did not reply, instead giving orders to a few more commanders. Couriers ran back and forth to alert their General of the defensive arrangements. After a few more minutes, she finally directed her attention back at them.

Terra felt a familiar tingle. Then came the rumbling within and the feeling of Maduin heating against her chest.

"Terra, Locke, please..." she pointed in the direction of the southwest." Over there," she said.

The sirens shut off abruptly and the soldiers quieted down. In the silence they stared into the dark night sky and waited.

It appeared out of the blackness with wings like a bat's, hideously large beyond imagination. Bony arms spread wide with green skin stretched across formed the wings. Its hands were purple claws and its face was a horrid evil grinning skull. It had horns like a bull and deformed hair like strands that trailed behind it.

"Holy goddess," Locke breathed. "That thing's bigger than a dragon."

Danielle nodded. "Far stronger as well," she said.

The monster hovered above Tzen by flapping its wings, the city silent beneath it, and slowly looked about. Locke felt chills run down his spine as the beast seemed to search for something.

"Fire," Danielle mumbled with her eyes closed.

Terra glanced over at Danielle. Her eyes were wide with the fright of understanding at Danielle's quietude.

The General's eyes opened. Her hand rose into the air and pointed at the beast. Liquid flame twirled about her body, its orange-yellow glow lighting up its caster in a similar aura. The fires obediently snaked up her outstretched arm.

"Burn," she whispered.

Her red hair bellowed back magnificently as the fires suddenly shot forth.

Danielle was a Magitek Knight.

Scorching magic engulfed the beast in the air. Flames danced off of the monster's hideous skin, its attempts to devour the creature futile. Yet despite the inadequacy of the attack, the thing howled in pain. It was a hideous sound, a high pitched moan that could shatter glass and burst eardrums. Locke covered his ears, trying to shut out the painful noise.

"All units, fire at will!" Danielle screamed.

Her command was unnecessary as everyone had already received their orders far in advance. With elemental beams charged at max capacity, pilots waited patiently for their General to identify the weakness of the monster above. Anything dangerous enough to trigger the sirens had to be carefully regarded, even with their overwhelming tactical advantage.

Before the flames of Danielle's spell died away, Magitek pilots had adjusted their aim and recalibrated their weapons. Their General had lit their path and though she had been unable to penetrate the powerful creature's armor-like skin, they would not back down from this challenge.

Dozens of beams, dazzling bolts of crimson light snaking around powerful gouts of magical inferno, tore their way through the air. Each twin burst had erupted from entrenched positions within the city, their combined force easily capable of vaporizing flesh and bone without making a distinction between the two. The city was illuminated by the powerful magic; there was so much weapon fire concentrated around the flying monstrosity that it was like a second sun rising in the night.

The purple-skulled monster screamed again, replying with a wave of its hideous wings. There came a great blast of wind that threatened to tear them off their feet, magical in nature as those limbs could never have caused such a storm. Locke wondered how the soldiers in the Central Square stayed on their feet -- how he stayed on his feet -- despite the powerful currents tearing apart the very roofs off buildings. But he could not tear his eyes away from the monster to notice what Terra saw and the question was soon forgotten in the fury of the gusts.

Even the powerful wind magic could not do anything against magnitude of the firepower being thrown at it. The magical storm mitigated the beams for a moment like a protective bubble surrounding the beast; a sphere of magical energy where fires burned like the corona of a star. Then the winds buckled and could not keep the energies from penetrating. The perimeter, where a shield of air had once forced magical beams to split apart and splatter like water upon rocks, broke down in seconds. Soon, the monster was screaming again in pain, its howl capable of sending shivers down the spine of all who listened.

It did not die though, not even under the combined force of that much weaponry. Forty Heavy-Siege Class Armors, the most powerful weapons in the Imperial Army, were quite capable of practically leveling a mountain. So large and unwieldy that their huge engines were nearly half the weapon's mass, these units were tailored siege engines that made a mockery of every weapon mankind had previously developed. Yet even their combined might only drew a scream of pain as the wretched beast turned away and flew higher into the air.

They pounded at the monster even while it fled, flying into the clouds until it was out of sight. A few of the Armors had overheated, the elemental beams been never been designed for such long continuous use. Yet the pilots had allowed for such damages, indeed some of the Armors had overheated with deadly consequences. They did not want to lose a monster capable of absorbing that much punishment out in the wild where the innocent peoples of the world lived. Soldiers defended civilians at the cost of their own lives if necessary. This was one of those situations.

Danielle sighed as the monster finally left. It was too far away to target even with the help of spells. She turned to Locke and Terra. The first was too shocked by the display of power, both Imperial and monster, to offer any comments. The second was too shocked by the revelations that Danielle had allowed her to see. Both were wide-eyed and did not realize Danielle's attentions until she spoke.

"Now you know the apocalyptic nature of the monsters released when the Floating Continent tore this world apart," she said. "Imagine that thing happening upon your little Relm at night."

Danielle left them, still too shocked to respond, and went back to the work of a general at war.

---

Locke and Terra had spent a restless night in the mansion headquarters. They had been given a guest room that had been used for storage of the late aristocrat's useless goods.

It had been a terrible night. Locke had tried in vain to comfort Terra. She was a wreck after the interrogation and the sight of that monster. He was terribly concerned. It was clear to him that knowing that there were thousands dying in the Empire was tearing her heart apart. How many innocent children would wake up in the face of that grinning purple skull? She could not sleep at all with such visions in her mind.

Locke did not realize the depths of her anguish. He had no idea that she blamed herself for those events; that she would actually blame herself for causing the Long Night.

Despite being left unguarded for the whole night, they avoided leaving the guest room out of fear. It was impossible to tell if Danielle had assigned anyone to watch over them secretly. If she did and they tested her patience, Relm would pay the price.

It was something that hung over their heads and tempered every action.

Locke wondered if Baldric, and it was Baldric this time because he had asked the guard his name, ever showed emotions. The man had woken them up quite early, allowing them time to freshen themselves and eat breakfast along with the rest of the mansion staff, before taking them to the south citygate. His face was expressionless and he gave them orders in a low, monotonous voice.

At the gates, Baldric directed them to the local guardhouse. Since the city guards had all been disbanded from their usual police roles, the guardhouse now served as a small barracks for the many soldiers that resided in Tzen.

Waiting for them was not Danielle; Locke was thankful that he wouldn't have to deal with her unpredictable and treacherous personality. Instead it was the man who had addressed him in the herb shop. He stood under the sunlight, enjoying the warmth provided as rays of morning light broke through the heavy cloud cover. His hair, shaven flat at the top, was quite different from most soldiers. It made him stand out amongst the numerous faceless men.

"Locke Cole," the soldier gave him a nod of his head. "We met yesterday but I doubt you caught my name in our little exchange," he held out his hand.

Locke took it, but only because he had no other choice.

"My name is Farin, although you will no doubt hear me addressed as Brigadier-General Starson for the most part. You are welcome to address me by my first name. As a civilian, I don't mind; especially considering your courageous nature for willingly accepting this mission," he continued.

Locke gave the dark haired man a stare. "You did force us to agree to a number of things at sword point, I don't think 'willingly' is a proper word to describe this situation."

Farin shrugged. "You are not bound by ropes and that's all that matters to me."

They were bound though, Locke thought to himself. They were bound by the threat of violence again Relm.

Farin turned to Terra. "Miss Branford," he said respectfully. He took her hand and kissed it. Although it was similar in fashion to the nauseating manner displayed by the guard yesterday, Terra did not feel repulsed. In fact, it was somewhat flattering.

He let her hand go and his voice returned to a more business-like tone. "I am afraid that in order to make best speed to Albrook, we will have to ride chocobos. That means you will have to ride astride, my sincerest apologies," he gave a little bow.

Terra blinked.

Farin did not catch the source of her confusion though, and instead turned to Baldric. "Tell Danielle that everything is as she requested," he ordered.

Baldric nodded and left without another word.

As Farin returned his attention to Locke and Terra, his green cloak bellowed out in the sudden wind. Two mounted men rode by them with great speed, three chocobos following in their wake.

"I thought Imperials like you didn't tolerate horseplay, those two could trample someone," Locke remarked.

Farin raised an eyebrow. "I don't care what you believe I am, but this is a military compound. No civilians are here aside from present company. Chocobo traffic is not restricted to silly cobblestone streets," he answered with a hint of disdain.

The two men slowed their mounts as they circled around. They came to a halt right next to Farin.

"General," one of the men said with a nod of his head. Both men were wearing plate mail beneath dirty brown cloaks. From that simple fact Locke knew these two were far from typical soldiers. Armor like that was incredibly expensive. It took a highly skilled blacksmith to forge one that was both light and flexible. Locke noticed that Farin himself had plate mail peeking from beneath his weathered green cloak.

"You know, I expected that important men such as ourselves would be getting a vacation after all we've been through," the second man said with a teasing grin. "Tzen is a pretty nice place to relax, lots of pretty girls. Yet we get here and barely a day passes before we're sent out again."

"Reinhardt," Farin ignored their comments and gestured at Locke and Terra. "These are our charges."

Reinhardt was an older man with a great brown beard but cleanly shaven head. Locke gazed at him in open wonder; the number of weapons on his person was simply daunting. Belts of throwing knives, two swords at his hips, and even a bow and quiver were amongst the many deadly instruments strapped to his back.

"Pleased to meet you," he said. "Especially you, fair lady," he pretended to tip his non-existent hat. Terra's lack of response was unexpected though; he was used to woman giggling at that ploy.

Farin vaulted onto his chocobo, scratching the bird's neck as he whispered to it. It appeared that Farin had his own personal mount.

The second man was as old as Reinhardt but lacked the beard. He had quite a number of scars on his face and had a similar number of weapons on strapped to his body. Locke wondered if he had seen either of these men at the gates the day before. There had been a number of elite soldiers barring entrance to Tzen.

"This one is Donnach," Reinhardt gestured. "We tend to call him Donny-boy but you don't look big enough to get away with it," he said to Locke with a chuckle.

"Neither are you but you do it all the same," Donnach grumbled.

The two men were easily as large as Farin, who already dwarfed Locke in sheer bulk. The three soldiers were around Cyan or Sabin's size by Locke's judgment, but they did not seem so big after spending all that time with Baldric and Valerio.

"These are for you," Reinhardt dismounted and handed Locke and Terra two heavy brown vests. "Your chocobos are loaded up for the trip, supplies, water, they should be found in the packs."

Terra stared at the leather armor with a frown. She didn't like the look of the Imperial gear.

"It's not lady-like but you'll need it. Do you have a weapon?" Reinhardt deftly flipped a sheathed dagger from his belt, catching it by its point and held it handle-first to Terra.

"No, I don't need it," she answered.

Reinhardt turned to Locke.

"I still have mine," Locke replied to the unspoken question. "Why the concern?"

"The Wilds are a dangerous place," Donnach responded while Reinhardt was mounting his chocobo. "Only a fool would be so confident to ride there unprepared for a fight."

"Let's ride," Farin silenced his men as he strode by on his chocobo. The large yellow bird was quite responsive to Farin's directions, he nudged gently on the reins and the beast of burden would carry him exactly as he wished. "We can make it to the Wilds by nightfall if we ride hard and then it's just a few days to Albrook."

---

They rode at a decent pace, certainly not as fast as the chocobos could go. They traveled slightly slower than what Farin had hoped, mostly due to Terra's inexperience.

Terra had only ridden a chocobo once. That was when they had escaped Castle Figaro and back then they had been fleeing Magitek Armors, so it was hardly considerable as a learning experience. Fortunately, the Imperial-bred birds were very tame. These were chocobos born for war; they would not falter in the face of blistering magic nor giant Magitek armor. By comparison, carrying an inexperienced rider was a trivial task.

Locke had ridden a few times before and had no trouble controlling his mount. He was as relaxed as he could be surrounded by Imperial soldiers and tried to help Terra as much as possible.

Lunch had been sandwiches already prepared in their bags, eaten while they rode. They were following a well-known route so they passed by many a refugee. However, the numbers died down the farther they left Tzen. Once they passed a checkpoint that Donnach pointed out, small groups of riders would halt them regularly: Imperial patrols that specifically targeted chocobo riders. Just the sight of Farin though and most of the soldiers let them go quickly. It appeared that Farin was a very well-known man. Locke supposed being a Brigadier-General would do that. The Imperials were mostly in awe of Farin. Some went out of their way to pay their respects, while others thanked him profusely for something Locke didn't overhear.

At about mid-afternoon, the road became difficult to travel. They halted when the road was broken apart; dead trees were cast upon the path like barricades. Locke squinted to see farther ahead. The entire area had been ripped asunder, the grassy plains burned to ash and trees little more than hunks of dead embers. The putrid black tar was everywhere, sticking to anything that hadn't been burned away. The route led to a sudden drop, a chasm where there should not have been, and it was doubtful that they could pass. It was a frightening reminder of the beams of light that had ripped the world asunder.

Farin led them off the road. A shortcut, he said, as they rode over the grassy plains.

It had not been his intention to meet a dragon.

Farin quickly brought his chocobo to a swift stop when he saw it. He shouted a quick order. Immediately, Reinhardt and Donnach both spread out to protect Locke and Terra in the center.

It was one of the dragons from the Floating Continent. Still huge despite the far larger monster from the night before, it sent chills down Locke's spine to see the beast away from the skull-shaped rocks that had been its home. The green-scaled lizard was on its feet. Yellow eyes stalked them with murderous intent as it slowly advanced. They had been fortunate to have noticed it while riding up a hill. An ambush by the creature was dangerous and possible thanks to the lay of the land. Instead, they spotted it a couple hundred meters away. If they were to run, now was the time.

Farin whispered his mount's name, the chocobo backing up carefully in response. He kept his eyes on the dragon but spoke to them.

"Locke, Miss Branford, can you hold your own if it comes after you?"

Locke wrinkled his brow. "You're thinking of taking on that thing? We don't have any Magitek backup and it's incredibly dangerous!"

"I will not let a monster like that loose in the lands where I was born; innocent people have no chance of surviving that beast," Farin snapped back. "I'll assume you can't fight; what about you Miss Branford?"

Terra stared at the dragon with a feeling of despair. She bit her lip, trying to set aside memories of Michals and Marcus cutting down those creatures on the floating island. Doubt entered her mind as she thought about their deaths. "I'm not sure what good I can do," she replied shamefully.

Farin narrowed his eyes. He had not been expecting that answer; after all she was the famed half-Esper. Danielle had seen fit to put herself in harm's way in order to neutralize Terra. "Any magic would be helpful," he suggested.

Magic. Terra gritted her teeth. She had failed repeatedly in the past few months to help anyone with her magic.

"That type of creature is especially vulnerable to lightning. Can you strike it down with such power?"

Gau, Davis, Michals, Marcus... Terra shook her head, fighting back the tears. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

Farin sighed. "What spells do you know?" He had assumed that she did not know any spells that were lightning-based.

"I..." Terra began.

The dragon roared and began moving towards them.

"I suggest you hurry up and hit it with what you have," Farin turned to his men. "Reinhardt, Donnach, distract it!" he ordered.

Distract it? Locke looked at Farin, wondering what lunacy he had imagined. Every single general of the Empire was absolutely insane!

"Starson you fool, you're going for all the glory today aren't you!" Reinhardt shouted loudly as he rode away. Donnach rode in the opposite direction.

Farin grinned despite himself and spurred his chocobo forward.

The dragon let loose a column of fire that twisted and snaked towards them with great speed. The three soldiers had long since dashed out of the way and Locke urged his mount into action as well. As usual he glanced back towards Terra. His eyes widened. She was still paralyzed and motionless, staring at the coming inferno with an indifferent look.

"Terra!" Locke screamed. He yanked back on the reins of his chocobo and dashed towards her, sending a kick to her chocobo's rear. The clever bird darted forward and carried Terra away safely.

Locke was not so lucky. The blast of fire caught his back and sent both he and his mount to the ground. He hit the dirt hard, a shock of pain shooting up his side as it felt like his arm was being ripped apart by the rocky ground. He screamed as the magical flames burned his back, the searing heat causing his eyes to tear in pain.

Terra blinked, her nonchalant look suddenly disappearing. Her eyes focused on Locke convulsing on the ground in torment. Confused by the flames that burned him, her eyes darted to the dragon. The green beast was staring at them, great yellow lizard eyes that made her feel like an insect. Black smoke floated out of its nostrils and yellow flames licked the inside of its mouth.

Flames... inside the mouth? Her eyes bolted back to Locke. He was covered in... flames.

Rage gripped Terra's heart, fury rippling down her back as she turned toward the dragon. Her brow was set in hatred, her lips curled in disgust. "Die," she whispered.

The dragon recoiled in pain as a sudden blast of air hit it. The violent concussion exploded outward in a shockwave, flattening everything around the monster in an instant. Blood seeped from between thick armored scales, flowing to the ground in crimson rivets.

Deadly energies swirled around Terra with a grim familiarity. The words she spoke were not her own but memories of her father. Yet she whispered the spell with intimate understanding, a trail of flame leaping from her hands and dancing about her at her command. Her magic's side-effects were far more impressive than the spell Danielle had cast. Pillars of fire twisted and snaked around Terra and the chocobo she rode. Liquid flames jumped aside, splashing the ground with ghastly consequences but never harming her. The chocobo was bred well enough to stay motionless, even though one of its natural enemies had surrounded it.

"Die!" Terra screamed as her hand directed the flames around her towards the dragon. The column of magical inferno screamed through the air faster than any chocobo, erupting on the dragon's head and engulfing it in flames.

Even as the spell began to wear off, the flames doing little more than to singe the thick scales of the dragon, arrows began to fly. Shot with deadly precision, Reinhardt and Donnach rode their chocobos fast as they encircled the dragon at distance. Arrows designed to pierce plated armor bounced off for the most part, but at least a few stuck to the dragon. They did little damage but their intentions had been achieved.

The dragon turned to the chocobos and let loose a stream of fire. The grasses burst into flames as fiery magic blasted past the chocobo riders. Reinhardt and Donnach continued launching arrows the whole time, urging their chocobos to dodge the deadly salvos that the dragon breathed in their direction. It was growing impatient but was unable to knock down the quicker soldiers. Soon, the grasses that surrounded it were burning in flames, thick black smoke obscuring the view of the monster. Yet the dragon kept using its dangerous breath, affected little by its dying surroundings.

Locke clutched his shoulder in pain as he stood. He realized he had taken the brunt of the blast, as his chocobo was standing calmly just few feet away from him.

Terra let loose another measure of fire, adding to the infernos that burned around the dragon. She ignored the heat Maduin was radiating against her chest. Liquid flame, hotter than any spell Terra had ever cast, burst on impact with the armor-like scales. The white blaze burst through the thick skin of the dragon and drew a horrifying roar of pain. Its flesh was burning like wood, muscles bubbling and popping amidst the blazing hells. With a scream of defiance, the dragon opened its mouth and Terra found herself in the path of a deadly fireball.

A single battle cry reminded Locke of what he had forgotten. Reinhardt and Donnach's bravado had not distracted just the dragon.

Farin rode his chocobo fast and hard while Terra threw up a defensive shield. He ducked beneath the gout of flame that soared past his head, where it split apart upon meeting Terra's powerful counterspell. The half-Esper gritted her teeth and cried out in frustration. The dragon was overpowering her, and she didn't understand why.

Farin drew his sword. Terra had given him the distraction he needed. His blade reflected a brilliant orange glow from the fires he rode through, and he pointed it forward.

Lightning, blindingly bright and thunderous in its roar, rippled forth from his blade. Bolts of electricity shattered into the dragon, some from Farin's blade, others seemingly ripping out of the ground. Rocks flew into the air and exploded into dust. Ashes rose into the air and seemed to vanish in waves of shimmering heat. Even the dragon's green wings were lifted upwards, blood exploding in a burst of cardinal mist as the great beast screamed.

Yet Farin was not done. As he rode by the dragon, Farin jumped off his chocobo. The mighty swordsman kicked off the side of the dragon, his momentum unharmed, and began running along it. His blade ripped into the beast's flesh, scaled armor that had weathered fire and lightning unable to resist any longer. Fresh blood flowed as lightning pounced on the sudden weakness of its prey, drawing screams of electrocuted pain. Yet none of the blinding bolts touched Farin or his mount.

The brave soldier jumped off the dragon and landed on his trusty chocobo. He rode away from the dying dragon with great speed, not looking back, and met with Reinhardt and Donnach at the perimeter.

The yellow bolts finally disappeared and the dragon collapsed onto the burning grasses. It had died long before then, but the lightning had kept its body frozen in the air.

Locke had no interest in the dragon's death. He was watching Terra. She was gasping for air, her chest heaving up and down from the effort of casting spells. Her eyes slowly lost the red glow, and the purple radiance in her hair faded away.

He had never seen that before. It was like she had tried to morph but only half succeeded.

The anger set in Terra's face had been lost, replaced by surprise and shock. She didn't remember consciously calling forth so much magical energy. She felt disgusted with herself when she realized how much destructive power she had wielded.

Then it hit her. She had finally realized why Farin's haircut seemed so familiar. The flatly shaven head had seemed wrong since he wore neither a military uniform nor adorned his side with medals of honor. Yet now it was obvious. He had not the trio of stars, but one was still enough.

Donnach fell in beside their two charges, Reinhardt following shortly after. Donnach gave a respectful nod to Terra. "That was an impressive show. I'm glad you're on our side today," he said in a reserved tone.

"A wolf in sheep's skin," Reinhardt murmured. "Why do you look so surprised?" he scratched his beard with one hand, the other still holding onto his bow.

"That lightning..." Terra started.

"I thought you killed General Christophe -- may he rest in peace -- in Thamasa. Surely you've seen his shock strike," Donnach said plainly.

Terra looked at Donnach, "I just didn't expect it, that's all," she answered. Such was her surprise that she didn't even notice his accusations.

"Starson was Christophe's former instructor, before he became famous and an incredible warrior. After that, Starson followed Christophe around," Reinhardt said proudly. "Even for his assassins, surely you have some respect for the greatest general that ever lived."

"Silence, both of you," Farin said as he rode back. "These two did not murder Leo in cold blood. I would never let such treachery go unpunished," Farin said dangerously. He looked from Terra and then to Locke. "They are too honorable to backstab an ally, unlike that bastard Palazzo."

Reinhardt and Donnach both looked surprised by that revelation. They exchanged looks with each other.

"Well, I guess we owe you an apology," Reinhardt said at last as he replaced his bow.

Terra looked down at the ground, unsure of what to say.

Farin spurred his chocobo into motion. "Let's get out of here, the Wilds are still hours away."  



	6. Eye of the Storm

**The Sixth Chapter - Eye of the Storm**

Edgar closed his eyes and relaxed. The soft grasses beneath him were comfortable despite the dirt being a bit damp. He didn't mind though. It felt great to have sunlight shining on his face.

Everything had calmed down ever since the clouds started to disperse. Initially, the rains were welcome. After three days of constant downpour though, it was somewhat depressing. Still, there was the promise of sunshine after the storm and everyone had waited anxiously. When the first rays of light broke through the clouds, there had been a great celebration in the market. The merry-making lasted for more than two days before Nestil reverted back to its tranquil and serene state. The bustling masses were still there but the threat of impeding doom had passed. The newly arrived Imperials had helped in that regard. Nearly three hundred men now policed the overcrowded city. Their enlarged presence had brought order in a short period of time, eliminating much of the crime that the local militia could not handle.

Many of the refugees had begun to entertain the notion of staying in Nestil permanently. The Empire had already started laying the foundation of a barracks for their moderately-sized garrison; it was a promise of permanent protection against future monster rampages. With the roads to the south secured, supplies were no longer fetching astronomical prices. Everything was almost back to normal.

Edgar scoffed at that thought; the world would never be normal again. He had heard the rumors and whispers of the holocaust in the south. The civil war that gripped the Empire was beyond the scale that he or Marcus ever envisioned. Even if the refugees from the Core had been embellishing greatly, it would still mean thousands dead and perhaps some couple tens of thousands starving at the moment.

He never imagined that Gestahl's death would have such devastating consequences. Perhaps if they had guessed the extent of madness that would grip the Empire's generals then they, as Returners, could have planned ahead. At least the north was safe, Edgar acknowledged. Smaller city-states like Jidoor and Nikeah could sleep soundly. A repeated Doma-esque invasion was unlikely while the Empire tore itself apart.

The war was still his concern, no matter how improbable an invasion was. He was a King and the sovereignty of his kingdom was of the utmost importance. Civil unrest in the Empire might be initially good for Figaro but the outcome would decide their fate. He would have to continue working with the Returners to see what they could do. A military conflict had to be avoided at all costs. The power of the Empire was too vast for any nation to stand against alone.

Nestil was a crystal clear message of power to any that entertained notions that the Empire had been weakened. A small, tactically unimportant town so far from civilization had deserved a soldier for every ten civilians. It didn't matter that Nestil was now a hub of trade in Northern Tzen. Imperial manpower was vast beyond Edgar's worst nightmares.

"King Edgar," Cyan's voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

Edgar sat up. He fixed his messy blond hair and suppressed the urge to yawn. "What is it Cyan?"

No response. Edgar looked up and noticed the concern on Cyan's face. Had the former Doma Knight known of Edgar's thoughts, he would be frowning in the same manner. After all, Cyan had seen first-hand a small measure of the Empire's military might. Unlike the excursions to Narshe and Castle Figaro, Doma had been invaded by three divisions. Not even South Figaro had seen the numbers fielded against Southern Doma.

In fact, Edgar wondered how Castle Doma had held out as long as it did. The amount of power the Heavy Magitek Armors had was frightening. Siana and Davis had lectured him at length on the elite units of the Magitek Armor Corps. Those machinations could singly mow down entire battalions in the open field.

But the concern on Cyan's face was not of future conflict. Edgar set aside his dispiriting thoughts, though his mood remained dark. "What happened?" he asked.

"A degree of worriment," was Cyan's obscure response.

---

Kenneth was looking far more rested than the last time. The doctor was no more than two or three years older than Edgar, but the stress of his lifestyle had aged him considerably. His brown hair was frizzled, his beard unkempt, and his clothes were wrinkled and dirty.

"It showed up this morning on my doorstep," Kenneth explained. "I have no idea how it got here, but here it is."

A small package containing the herb Kenneth needed was now sitting on the glistening wooden table in Garrett's meeting room. There was just the three of them in the room. Garrett had left in the morning to find a friend.

The box itself was a complete mystery. A single piece of paper had been attached to it, the signature at the bottom clearly Locke's handwriting. Yet the entire situation made little sense and the note itself clarified nothing.

"Is it the right herb?" Edgar asked. If the box actually was from Locke, they could not simply discard the contents like the doctor suggested.

Kenneth shook his head. "Well," he said, "not exactly. It is laryl, but I'm not really comfortable with the situation." He was somewhat edgy, as if he wasn't sure how to explain the problem.

"What do you mean? It's not the right herb, but it is?" Edgar asked again.

Cyan was off to the side, his arms folded as he judged Kenneth's reaction.

Three days ago, they had witnessed Kenneth speaking with some officers from the local garrison. Although it was expected, Edgar wanted to keep a closer eye on the doctor. He was not a Returner like they were and unlike Garrett, there was no reason for the doctor to keep their presence a secret. Before he left, Locke had given Edgar a secret letter. He had written a short explanation of Garrett's previous encounter with the Empire. If the story was true, and Locke seemed to indicate so, then Garrett could be trusted.

Kenneth, on the other hand...

"The problem with these herbs is that they can easily be mixed with deadlier substances; especially when they have been prepared like this one has..."

"You're afraid that this might be fake, especially since the package only comes with a note saying it's from Locke," Edgar finished. "Can you do anything with the stuff?"

Kenneth shrugged. "One day, maybe two. That's how long it takes for me to make sure it's pure."

Edgar nodded. "Alright, then we'll leave it in your hands."

Kenneth stood up and took the package. He removed the letter. "Then I'll take my leave. Have a good day," Kenneth said before he left.

After the front door closed shut, Cyan stood up and retrieved the letter. It was on a yellowed parchment and had been sealed by a dot of red wax. They had already read its contents at least thrice over.

Cyan scanned it again while Edgar pondered the situation. It was too soon for Locke to make the return trip, considering the problem with chocobo-riding. Even had he stolen a mount, he would not have secretly delivered the herb without contacting them. Terra and Relm were still in his company. Locke might have been brash, but he was no fool.

He was a fool, but he wasn't irredeemably stupid, Edgar corrected himself. If the package was trustworthy then there were a few possibilities that remained, all of them bad. Edgar frowned. If it was a fake, then they had a dilemma to confront.

"What do you think," Cyan asked.

Edgar sighed. "This week has gotten worse and worse with each passing day," he said. "Even if the package was real, then Locke is in trouble of some sort. If the package is fake, then we're in trouble. Either way, someone is going to get hurt."

Cyan nodded. He had already thought about both possibilities and hoped the box was fake. It would mean that someone was spying on them in Nestil and that could be handled. If it were real... Cyan scowled. The thought of Relm being in danger boiled his blood.

Edgar stood up with a frustrated look on his face. "I hope Sabin is having an easier time than we are."

---

Sabin looked behind them. It was not an action out of paranoia, he could feel whether someone was following them or not. No, it was more of an act to ease her worries. Seeing nothing behind them, he hurried to catch her fleeting form.

Siana was tired. Sweat and dirt ran in streaks as she wiped at her brow. Her hood was still on despite the blazing heat. She kicked a rock in anger, silently cursing Edgar at the same time. After the debacle in Nestil, they had settled on an amicable solution after much debate. They could not kill Godric. He was too important and would be protected by more than they could safely handle.

However, Godric knew that both Siana and Sabin were in Nestil. The man was utterly loyal and incredibly stubborn. Siana cursed Sabin again for his idiocy. Why he had failed to kill Godric when he had the chance, she didn't know. They couldn't bargain or negotiate with Godric and as long as Strago and Setzer were injured, they could not outrun him. Sabin had really screwed up.

The solution was in Godric's ignorance. He did not know of Edgar, Cyan, or their injured comrades. Their plan was simple. Sabin and Siana would leave Nestil and leave a trail that could be followed by a sufficiently devoted enough tracker. That was easy; Siana had reiterated how unrelenting Godric could be. His whole life could be summed with that one word. As the youngest son of a poor rural family, he had struggled to help make ends meet. To that end, he joined the Imperial Army when he was fourteen. It was frowned on for such young children to be in the military, but he was a quick learner and eager to please. He had a promising career after he caught the eye of a Magitek pilot who had recently lost his own son.

His hard-headed and determined attitude had allowed him to perfect his Magitek piloting skills until he had command of the most powerful weapon in the Imperial arsenal: the Heavy-Siege Armor. That same outlook had landed him in the Imperial Special Forces, and then one of the few pilots deployed in Doma; a true honor considering the scarcity of heavy artillery during that war.

Now that same relentless drive was being used against him. Edgar had detailed out their strategy. They could not leave obvious details; Godric was too smart for that. He would instantly see through their game and realize they had something to hide. Instead, they were subtle but made mistakes. When they stayed in a tavern to rest the night, they talked too much. When they asked for directions, they left favorable impressions on the refugees. Edgar had brainstormed an idea of having Siana look paranoid, not difficult considering what they were doing, and had her wearing her hood regardless of the weather or time of day. Her brilliant red hair, a fiery shade that normally caught the eyes of roving men, was hidden under unassuming cloth. Yet strands peaked out underneath the cheap wool and everyone that noticed her had remembered it.

It was a devious, brilliant idea. Edgar was a genius, Siana acknowledged that. As they made their way to Halstead under the beating midday sun, she also acknowledged that he was also the dealer of heartless and sadistic punishments. She wiped her brow again as sweat ran down one cheek. Forcing them to travel together was nothing more than thinly veiled retribution.

Siana knew that Edgar blamed her for their sudden troubles. He was a charismatic man and had hid it well, but she could still feel his condescending eye on her back. After all, he was both a noble and a rebel. How much he must have hated her: an Imperial commoner.

It's too bad your own flesh and blood is so unrelentingly thickheaded, Siana spat on the mental image of Edgar Figaro.

"Halstead should be close now. Considering this heat, I'd say we're nearing a desert," Sabin remarked. He was carrying a large pack on his back, the same as the one on her back. His muscled form was covered by a thin sweat-drenched shirt, his cloak tossed over one shoulder carelessly.

Siana caught herself before she snapped a witty retort. She had quickly learned that silence was preferable to talking with Sabin. If they ever talked, the discussion would quickly devolve into a heated argument about the Empire. It was best if they didn't talk.

Over a decade ago, Halstead was a border town between the Empire and the two kingdoms of Tzen and Maranda. Despite the desert encroaching on the city, its enviable position made it into a prime trading center. The town grew in size until the Empire invaded Tzen. Then Marandan traders stopped going to Halstead, too many were afraid of the Empire's next move. It took years for relations to be repaired and now it was the only city in the Empire that could claim to be built on nothing more than trade.

Refugees from southern Tzen villages had fled here despite the sweltering heat. There was a very large garrison stationed in Halstead, since it had been feeding one of the supply trains of the Empire during the Marandan War. After the kingdom collapsed and the need for supplies diminished, the garrison had stayed for the strategic value of the city.

Now it was once again the forefront of war.

It was impossible to keep spies out of the city with so many refugees; the Imperial garrison commander had known this and did not even try to keep the unruly folk from entering Halstead. Instead, every building of military importance was heavily guarded and regular patrols of Magitek units made their rounds of the dusty city. Hours away from the city, Sabin had noticed quite a few sentries that were keeping watch for any possible incursions from the unfriendly Maranda-occupation troops.

They had talked to many a refugee fleeing from either small southern towns in Tzen or escaping the civil war that gripped the Core of the Empire. Siana was heartbroken upon hearing the news, and even Sabin could not ignore the plight of those caught in the monstrous holocaust. Disease, starvation, monsters and heartless soldiers ran unchecked in the Core, slaughtering thousands and leaving countless more at the doorstep of death. Most of the refugees carried little more than clothes, and some did not even have that luxury. Others were sickly and there were many traveling injured. They had escaped the dangers of the war with little more than their lives and now blindly sought protection in Halstead.

Sabin and Siana entered the city with little effort. It was amazing that Godric had not yet alerted all troops in the area of their criminal presence. They counted themselves lucky that the Empire was in such disorder; saved due to poor communication being maintained during these times of war. In peacetime, Godric would have sent a message to any city they could have escaped to. They would have been caught entering a village for supplies and held until the Magitek pilot could catch up.

Still, Sabin and Siana could not take the chance that Godric had sent word but the Imperials were too undermanned to care. They shrank away from the soldiers on duty and gave the Magitek armors wide-berth. They were leaving a trail for Godric to follow, not playing a game of chicken with the Imperial Army.

A promising tavern caught Siana's eye. It was not a run-down roadhouse like some of the places they had passed, but it was certainly not where the upper-class would venture. There were enough ill-behaved customers at the bar for a few to be picked up by Imperial soldiers and questioned, yet not enough of them to test their luck against Sabin. That was one of his few positive traits, Siana had noted a while ago. He could be quite intimidating.

Siana removed her hood and instantly attracted the attentions of some of the most revolting men ever born. They were disgusting trash. It had been years since she was on regular patrol, and even then she had rarely dealt with their kind. Piloting had spoiled her, Siana thought to herself. She gripped the dagger at her belt for reassurance and knew that she had two more in each boot if things got rough.

Siana frowned as she watched Sabin scowl and scare a few of the men back to the protective embrace of their ale. He cracked his knuckles and gestured at the few that didn't back off. She sighed. Aggression would only make the situation worse.

They found an empty table near the back of the establishment. Rickety old wood that was neither comfortable nor pleasant was still welcome. Her sore legs thanked her as she rested. Sabin ordered drinks in the meanwhile. His question about a place to stay caught the serving boy off-guard, and the kid ran off to find the owner of the bar.

A large man, not as muscular as Sabin but just as bulky, greeted them with a friendly smile and two glasses of water. He sat down despite being uninvited. "My lad tells me you're looking for a place to stay," he kept his voice low and made a deliberate gesture at the bar. None of the ruffians had heard; they were now too busy with their drinks. "That's pretty gutsy, considering the type that come here."

Mid-forties or so, he looked to be a smart man but cursed with a weight problem. But he had muscle hidden beneath that flab and could probably hold his own in a bar fight. The owner was a man that could be trusted, so long as they did not bring trouble. Siana looked for evidence of a weapon. None that she could find; that meant he was well-respected in his tavern. An interesting man, she judged.

"I don't really care about them," Sabin replied in an equally hushed voice. "I know it'll be difficult to find lodging at inns, too many coming in from the Core." He had grown quite comfortable with the slang that most Imperial citizens used. Siana had worked hard to remove the Figarian accent as well. His unique pronunciation would have alerted a clever man. They had to stay in Halstead for a while, so she couldn't have let such hints slip.

The tavern owner nodded knowingly. "That's right, it's a shithole down there -- forgive my language girl," he looked over at Siana for forgiveness. "Damned monsters are wrecking everything in sight ever since that accursed island flew over us. I knew it was a bad omen the day I saw it, that's what I told my lad, and then the Death Beams, hellrains, darkness, monsters..." He let loose a string of curses that almost made Siana smile. "I have never been happier to see those black metal beasts of the Imperials, that's for sure."

"Well that's why we came here. Safety in the city," Sabin acknowledged. "So do you have any rooms available?"

The tavern owner nodded. "I've got one left, it only has one bed but I'm sure that's no problem," he winked.

Siana felt her cheeks redden with rage at the implication.

"It's locked pretty tightly too, good since you have a lady with you. But usually my lad brings his wenches to that room, so he'll be mighty angry I'm renting it out."

Sabin understood. He was looking for a reason to give them the room. This was basically bartering. "Well we're thinking about staying at least a week, so how much are you asking?"

"Two thousand."

"Wow," Siana whispered. "That's insane." The place could not have fetched more than thirty gil a night, much less three hundred.

"Only if you throw in meals and give us a hand if there's trouble," Sabin said.

"I don't want any fights in my bar," the tavern owner frowned, "but you don't seem like the type to purposely pick them, no matter how big you are." He broke into a grand smile. "Done!" His arms spread extravagantly as he stood up. "I'll be back with your keys..." he trailed off, waiting for a name.

"Dale," Sabin replied. "Dale Telford."

"Glad to meet you Dale. Call me Bill."

Siana waited until the tavern owner was out of earshot before speaking. "Why would you pay such a crazy price?" she asked quietly. "It can't be all that difficult to find another place to house us for even half that price."

Sabin sipped from his glass of water. "He's a good man, I can tell from his attitude. Honest and hardworking, he won't deceive us or sell our names for any amount of money."

She glared at him. "I could see he's a good person, despite his efforts to hide it behind all that bulk. I just meant that you could have haggled and saved us some money."

"It's just a tiny bit of money," Sabin shrugged.

Siana turned her nose up into the air. Typical snobbish attitude, she should have expected no less from the brother of a King. What did that make him? She wondered. Her knowledge of royalty was quite limited, but she supposed he was a prince, or duke, or...

"And it's not even yours, it's Edgar's," Sabin continued. "Probably better to not argue over little things like a few hundred gil. Not if we plan on staying here for a while."

... a spoiled brat who had never had to make every last gil count; never gone hungry because there wasn't enough money to afford food; never known poverty in his life.

Silence settled in between them. Sabin sipped at his water noisily. "This will be the best spot to stay to give Godric a chance to catch up," he mused.

"That's why I chose it," Siana snapped back. Halstead was a busy city and with the world the way it was, she knew it would have been easy to slip in and out without effort. "You should look for a good driver in the meantime, it will take a while to find one with enough courage to cross the desert and take us deeper into Maranda."

Sabin finished his water. "You better be right about going that far south," he lowered his voice but the tone was no less threatening. "The refugees haven't exactly been praising the troops in Maranda."

Siana folded her arms and gave him a disdainful glare. "Well of the two of us, my advice isn't the one that got us into this mess."

Sabin returned the glare. "Just try not murder anyone here."

Siana let the comment slide. The spoiled noble probably wouldn't let anyone else have the last word.

---

They rode in silence. Everyone was on alert ever since the previous day's encounter with the dragon. The three Imperial soldiers remained in their formation, protecting Locke and Terra in the center of a triangle.

Once they had ridden past the border and into the Wilds, Farin had grown far more cautious. He regularly rode ahead of the group, scouting their surroundings and making sure of their safety.

The Wilds was a swath of land between the vast Ocean and the Kavanagh Mountain range. The area was unrelentingly hostile. The ground was rocky and dry, even the hardiest of weeds fought for their life here. Farming was out of the question and that meant no settlements. Beaches were non-existent, much of the coast consisted of a dizzyingly high cliffs. No boats could dock and that meant the region was useless to the Empire.

Monsters roamed the unpatrolled wastes and now the place was as barbaric as the Veldt. The Wilds lived up to its name.

Monsters were not the only threat. Ignoring the area did not mean complete abandonment. Spies and shadow operations worked in the countryside. Farin stated that he had a few men in the area. Locke's inquiry on what those soldiers were doing was met with a menacing stare. It was not his business, Farin replied.

Locke did not press the matter.

Donnach and Reinhardt had solemn dispositions. Their cheerful attitude faded as quickly as one would put out a candle. Eagle-eyes watched the hillsides regularly lest they be ambushed.

Locke had noticed that both men treated him with kinder words ever since they had been cleared of assassinating Leo Christophe. As for their treatment of Terra, it had always been courteous and well-mannered. But after her display of might against the dragon, that demeanor had been tempered with a dash of discretion.

Suddenly, Farin stopped his chocobo in front, his hand signaling for the group to do the same. Locke wondered what the problem was; he saw nothing ahead of them.

"Flanks," Farin ordered.

Both Donnach and Reinhardt spurred their mounts into action, dashing off in opposite directions.

"You two," Farin turned around. "Stay here, don't move, and don't act. If you're in danger, hold your position or head back," the soldier then spurred his chocobo. "Whatever you do, don't charge forward!" he yelled before his mount took him over the hill.

Unexpectedly left alone, Locke nervously glanced about. "Well this is surprising," he commented.

Terra nodded. "I don't think anything is nearby," she said. "I wonder what worries him."

Locke shrugged. This was the first time in many days that he could speak with Terra openly without being watched by Imperials. He took the chance before it slipped away. "What do you think about Farin?"

A gust of cold wind blew between them, causing Terra to tighten the brown cloak over her leather armor. Strands of her dyed blond hair tickled her face before she brushed them away. Her blue eyes gazed ahead, as if she could see Farin from her position atop a chocobo.

"He reminds me more and more of Leo," Terra said at last.

Locke nodded. "Yeah, he has those same mannerisms, although he's a lot blunter."

"We never fought at Leo's side," Terra said with a hint of regret. "I think there wouldn't be much difference."

Locke had not meant to bring the conversation to their fallen friend. Fortunately, something had been on his mind for the last day and it seemed like a good time to ask it. After all, she was far more responsive today than any other time in the past month. "Are you alright?" Seeing Terra's quizzical look, he elaborated. "You almost got yourself killed yesterday. Why did you freeze when the dragon was attacking us?"

Terra looked away. "Sorry about that," she said.

Locke rubbed his shoulder idly and brought his chocobo around to see Terra's expression. Though he had been burned by the dragon, the only real injury was to his arm. It was still hurting from when he had jumped off his chocobo in haste.

Terra looked miserable. The question had left her dejected. He felt awful for asking the question and tried to redeem himself. "Listen," Locke said, "we've been through a lot lately and it just seems-"

"I don't want to talk about this," Terra interrupted him. She gave her chocobo a tap on the side, walking out in front of him so he could not see her face.

Locke sighed. "Terra," he started. "I'm not blaming you for anything." He avoided mentioning his injury. "I just want to make sure this doesn't happen again."

"I was scared, alright?" she was lying and Locke could hear that quite clearly. "Just leave me alone."

He wanted to press the issue but his instincts told him it was a bad idea. Since those feelings had saved him countless times in the past, he took the hint and quieted down.

---

The three soldiers returned before long, looking rustled but unharmed. Locke noticed that there were bloodstains hidden underneath their cloaks, and it seemed like quite a few of Donnach's weapons were missing.

"Monsters?" Locke asked.

Farin grunted. "A pack of them," he said. The three men assumed their defensive positions and continued their journey towards Albrook.

"Donny-boy decided to get too close to some minis," Reinhardt explained as they rode. "We cut most of them down but the lizards are as fast as they are small."

"Minis?" Locke asked.

"They're the little brothers of the green dragon from before, fortunately without the nasty fire breath," Reinhardt replied as he scratched his scruffy beard. "Fast little guys, they travel in big groups and wipe out packs of travelers like wolves would."

"We cut plenty of them down before," Donnach said. "Just never seen them in those numbers before." He shook his head. "I liked that axe too," he grumbled. "Never thought I'd lose it."

"You're lucky you didn't lose your chocobo," Reinhardt taunted. "Otherwise the General would tie you to Lightstride and haul you to Albrook."

"If we had armored mounts, then there would have been no problems going back for it," Donnach scowled.

"We don't, so stop whining. I wasted some of my favorite throwing daggers to save you," Reinhardt retorted.

Their argument died off as they traveled deeper into the Wilds. The path they followed twisted and turned through the grasslands, the plains themselves growing barer and barer with every passing hour. Not even the weeds grew here. After a while, they reached a deep gorge that was impassable. Farin took them east until they reached a great stone bridge, one that was falling into ruin. It was covered with the disgusting black tar that the Imperial men had called hellrain.

It was sufficient to bear their weight though, and they crossed quickly and found themselves in a withering forest. The black rain had killed what few trees could grow in the harsh ground. Thick, dark paste covered every leaf and the stench was horrible. They rode quickly and found themselves in an abandoned village.

Perhaps a month ago, it was the home to some hundred men and women. It was not a rich place to live. The roads were merely packed dirt from years of use; the houses were no more than mud cabins with thatched roofs. The food had been sparse here; there was little of value in the region. Yet the village was their home and nothing the Empire tried could force them to find so-called better lives in the city.

Farin had a solemn look on his face as he judged the village. He had been here many times, even stayed overnight once with the village elders.

"Monsters," he grumbled angrily as he dismounted into a puddle of the black tar. He whispered to his chocobo -- Locke believed its name was Lightstride by Reinhardt's comments -- and walked alone into one of the houses.

No one followed him. It was unnecessary. The house was small shack and it was doubtful anything could even harm the powerful knight. They looked around the deserted village. The black stuff had stuck everywhere, though it had long since stopped dripping and coagulated into deep puddles.

They sat in silence, the chocobos squawking ever so softly, as Farin entered house after house. He never said anything, never motioned for Donnach or Reinhardt, and never showed emotion on his face. He entered each house with the same disposition and closed the doors when he left, if the house had any doors still hanging from their hinges. A simple questioning glance to the bearded Reinhardt and Locke knew: to disturb Farin was certain death.

At last, Farin returned to the four of them and vaulted onto Lightstride. The chocobo immediately began to move and they hurried to catch him.

Locke braved the dangerous silence. His curiosity had gotten the best of him. "What happened?" he asked Farin.

Reinhardt gave Donnach a sidelong glance. This was going to be entertaining, his motions suggested.

Farin did not snap at Locke as was expected. Instead, the General spoke through gritted teeth. "Monsters, they rampaged the village and killed nearly everyone," he hissed.

Locke nodded. They knew that much from a casual glance. The town had been torn apart in a chaotic fashion, not invaded by soldiers and burnt to the ground. He wondered why Farin had taken so long to come to such a conclusion. "Do you think anyone escaped?" he asked.

Farin shook his head. "Not with much more than their lives and even if they did, where would they run? They're two days' march from the next closest garrison," he said.

"What if they ran away after the hellrain started pouring? This place is a mess and it seems obvious they never bothered trying to clean the stuff off," Reinhardt noted.

"That's a letter of reprimand on your record, Major," Farin growled.

Reinhardt gave the General a questioning look.

"There was plenty of evidence that the villagers never evacuated," Donnach spoke up. "Failing to take notice of that, you should have at least recognized the telltale signs of wolves. Looks like the last year with the Eighth Regiment spoiled you." He rode up beside Farin. "What happened to the garrison here? I saw no signs of their presence."

"Pulled out," Farin answered.

"Before the Long Night," Donnach finished.

"This would never have happened if that power-hungry Lilienthal-" Farin caught himself, suddenly remembering present company. He quieted down, a measure of anger disappearing in the process.

"What did Lilienthal do?"

It was Terra who asked, or surely Farin would have lashed out at Locke. Perhaps not physically, Reinhardt could not see the General ever hitting a civilian without purpose, but his choice of words would have certainly been creative. Yet the two soldiers were denied their commanding officer's wrath, all because of the naive blond-haired girl in their midst. Donnach shook his head, sharing Reinhardt's disappointment.

"Remiel Lilienthal was the governor of Albrook for the past decade. After the Esper attack on Vector, he took over as military commander there," Farin explained.

"Is he a bad man?" Terra asked again.

Her phrasing caused Farin to grin, the sides of his mouth curling upwards as he struggled to retain the righteous anger that had flared within him. "No," he said with much restraint. "He is not a bad man."

"What is he like then?" Locke asked. "We'll probably be meeting him anyways, and we've been told nothing about either this Remiel."

The sun was setting; its meager rays of light shining through the thick cloud cover were fading away leaving nothing but the shadows. It appeared that Farin was leading them into a forested area and they slowed their pace. Farin told Reinhardt and Donnach to travel ahead and find a place to camp before answering Locke's question.

"Lilienthal is a fool. He believes that the army should not bother with its expansions to protect those under the Empire," Farin explained. "No doubt it was his idea to recall the soldiers around here because of those idiotic beliefs."

"So there should have been a large garrison back there?" Locke still did not know the name of the ghost-town.

"That's right. It was one of the main reasons why the village was even there. I didn't find a sign of them though, so it's obvious Lilienthal told them to pack up and head back to Albrook."

"Have you met him before?" Terra caught up to Farin and rode beside him.

"Yes, Remiel Lilienthal is a powerful man for many reasons, chief of which is the House of Lilienthal itself. The Emperor and he were supposedly friends. I met him a few years back when he addressed the House of Lords," Farin replied. "Since then I have only seen him twice, though the most recent encounter is something to be proud of."

"What happened?"

Farin grinned. "I met him in battle of course, during the midst of Drummond's treachery."

"You were at Vector?"

Farin nodded. "Of course, I led many cavalry charges and felled dozens of armors," he said proudly. "I engaged Lilienthal while covering our retreat. The man had cleverly realized we were withdrawing from the battlefield and tried to capitalize on it. There is no greater honor than the knowledge that my actions saved thousands of fatigued and battle-weary soldiers from being routed by a cavalry charge."

Terra was silent, astonished at Farin's actions.

"You didn't manage to injure him, did you?" Locke thought aloud. "After all, he's still alive. And why would you escort us then? I doubt you're very popular."

The look on Farin's face was deadly serious. "The possibility of a truce will save more lives than my sword can. Though this escort is small, that is only because of the insistence of Lilienthal. If I had my way, there would be no less than two platoons of my finest, rather than relying on two of my absolute finest. To say that you two are important is an understatement."

Locke nodded absent-mindedly. He was thinking of things other than the Imperial Civil War. After all, if Farin had not managed to kill this General they were meeting, it meant that the General was incredibly strong. Farin had been able to kill the dragon with a single blow and even if he was only half as skilled as Leo had been...

"You should know this though; Lilienthal is much more dangerous than he looks. You'll do well to avoid underestimating the breadth of his knowledge," Farin warned. "He is not a man to be trifled with."

---

Upon on the easternmost rim of the Kavanagh Mountains laid the unofficial borders of the Albrook Region. Known to the more learned as the Province of Alfort-Brougham, named for one of the greatest Emperors in history, it was rarely referred to as anything more than Albrook. This caused no small amount of confusion between the province and the city. To solve this problem, a young Emperor Gestahl had unsuccessfully tried to rename the region as Angevine. The backlash from popular opinion, as well as a warning from the reigning governor, had Gestahl rescinding his attempts. So the region continued its infamous confusion with a sense of dignity and pride.

Emperor Gestahl had been quite agitated by his subjects. After the Empire expanded to both the kingdoms of Tzen and Maranda, Gestahl had seen to it that both the capitals and the provinces had the same name. It was a minor display of vengefulness and certainly no one in the Empire dared to suggest the Emperor was behaving irrationally. The provinces that made up the Core cared little for the expansion. Tzen's noble house had been all executed and its citizens were no more than prisoners until the Emperor included them into the Empire many years later. Maranda's citizens were still considered war prizes and not protected by the Empire's numerous laws. Thus both Tzen and Maranda shared Albrook's confusing nomenclature without resistance.

When Farin alerted them that they were in Albrook territory, Locke could not understand how he had come to such a conclusion. Nothing had changed from their week-long ride through the Wilds; the rocky hillsides and forested canopy was the same and did not reveal any landmarks. However, despite being in enemy territory, there was no change in demeanor from any of the Imperial soldiers. They continued riding with the same casual glances to their sides that had somehow kept the monsters off their backs during the entire journey.

After another hour of steady traveling, Locke realized they were being followed. After years of working with the Returners, he had developed quite a few extraordinary skills. He could feel eyes on the back of his neck, eyes of a hunter watching his every move.

Locke rode up beside Farin, acting unconcerned. "I think we're being followed," he whispered as he idly rubbed a particularly deep scratch in his leather armor. One of the miniature dragons had gotten quite close during one of the past nights. Their group had been attacked at least once everyday and his armor only told half the story.

Farin's nodded, although Locke was unsure if it was a bob of the head due to his mount, or whether the soldier already knew. "If you're hungry, then eat while we ride. We're not stopping for you," he smoothly lied for the benefit of their pursuers.

The forests grew sparse as they left the Kavanagh Mountains. Albrook was in the midst of fertile grasslands. The breadbasket of the Empire, Albrook's farms were great in scale. The land was so rich that even with the industrialization of the Core and expansions within the continent, more farms had been unnecessary. Much of Albrook remained picturesque, with vast rolling plains of long yellow grassy stalks, Vais Gumes as it was called by the locals. The land had long since been tamed, monsters purged by roving hunters employed by the generous pocketbooks of Vector businessmen. Those same businessmen had then planted vineyards and orchards in abundance. Albrook's wines were well-renowned throughout the world.

Locke was remembering his last bottle of Alfort's Finest as they left the highlands. They rose to the top of a hill before Farin brought them to a halt.

The plains made it difficult for anything to hide, but somehow the Imperials had made it work to their advantage. Numerous yellow cloaked soldiers were waiting for them in the stalks of grasses, their arrows drawn and glinting in the sunlight, while five men barricaded the road with armored chocobos.

Farin held his hands high into the air. "I am of the Empire!" he called out.

Locke felt edgy from the affair; they were surrounded by at least two dozen men hiding in the grasses. There were also the heavy cavalry on the road, men that looked as equally menacing as Donnach and Reinhardt. Locke cast a glance at the two soldiers. They seemed at ease, their hands far from their weapons, while they watched their commander slowly ride towards the group of chocobo-mounted men.

"Yes, we could tell you were Imperial," the leader of the cavalry group replied. His face was hooded and his mouth covered by some sort of dusty cloth. Locke could not see what the man looked like.

Farin lowered his hands and reached into his cloak. He pulled out a silver medallion. "I am on official business to Albrook," he said. "I ask for safe passage and an escort, if available."

The hooded commander brought his chocobo beside Farin's and studied the medallion. "Your passage would have been acceptable three months ago. You are unwelcome here soldier."

Farin glanced back to Terra. "I am guarding civilians that General Lilienthal wishes to meet, Captain."

"Yes, I noticed the civilians already. Their presence, as well as the fact there are only three of you, is the only reason why you still breathe," the man pulled down his dirt-covered wool hood, revealing a mess of brown hair. "However, there are no orders remotely suggesting that traitors of Tzen are to be allowed within the regions of Albrook proper," the soldier retorted.

Farin nodded. "Understood, but my mission is to deliver these two to your General."

"And mine is to defend these lands from invaders. I suggest you take my generous offer and leave while you still can," the captain of the mounted men pulled on his hood again. "I admit it takes courage to enter hostile territory with the numbers here, but I have already given you far more leniency than you deserve. Leave."

Farin was immobile, the slight shaking of his head missed by all but the most attentive.

The mounted men slowly backed away after their captain rejoined the group. Their armored chocobos were slow and Farin could have probably easily kept pace with them, but instead Farin stood his ground and merely watched the commander of the group with his discerning gaze.

The commanding officer returned the glare with equal ferocity. "Shoot him if he does not leave," he called out. "Five."

Locke wondered why Reinhardt and Donnach were still motionless. Surely now was the time for action. He found his throat suddenly dry. How could he possibly protect Terra against so many arrows? How could he keep his promise?

"Four."

Terra was increasingly distressed. This was getting out of hand. She thought Danielle had already taken care of everything. Didn't this Lilienthal want to speak with her? Why would his men kill them?

"Three."

Farin idly scratched Lightstride's neck and whispered words of comfort.

The hooded commander raised his hand and made a circular motion of sorts. "Two," he added.

Locke's eyes searched the grasses around them. His last count was two dozen archers, but he swore there were less now. His hands still maintained a death grip on his knives though. He quickly planned the best way to draw the Imperials' attentions.

Locke did not notice Terra's hands tracing the motions of a spell, but Reinhardt did. The bearded soldier growled at Terra. "Stop."

Before the hooded commander spoke again, an arrow shot through the grasses and pierced Farin's shoulder.

Farin grunted and grabbed the arrow shaft. He ripped the projectile from his shoulder, the bladed arrow tearing its way out of his arm. It had slipped through the gap between two metal plates that protected his shoulder.

"That was a warning shot, the next dozen will not miss," the commander said. There was no change in his disposition, even if Farin's actions were totally unexpected. Instead, his hand came up and made a different circular motion.

"I rather not tear a path through our own," Farin said. "But you are leaving me no choice." Fresh blood ran down his arm but he paid no attention to the wound.

It was unlikely that any of the archers or mounted riders would have seen it coming. Farin's motions were smooth and gave nothing away. He would have drawn his blade and annihilated all five men before anyone could have responded. Lightstride would have carried him away from the first batch of arrows while Reinhardt and Donnach could have cut down the men where they hid.

Fortunately, no blood was spilt that day.

"Captain, keep your men in check!" a strong voice, old but full of vigor, commanded. Everyone but the archers turned to the new voice. Flanked by nearly twenty men on chocobos, an elder man rode on a silver-armored chocobo. He wore a traveler's cloak similar to Farin's, the green material seeming vastly out of place in the yellow fields.

Locke felt relieved. The tension slowly faded away, his knuckles still white around the handles of his blades, as the threat to Terra's life passed. He frowned though. Once again, he was impotent in the face of danger.

The hooded commander was obviously outranked by the newcomer. The original five men split apart and let the older soldier pass by.

"Colonel Norris Ferdinand," Farin greeted coldly.

The older soldier had long grey hair, though it had been tucked into his cloak while he rode. Wrinkles appeared in his face as he smiled. "Colonel Farin Starson," he replied. "Ever the stubborn soldier, don't you feel pain?"

Farin brushed at his arm. "It's a minor wound. I presume General Lilienthal sent you?" he purposely opened his cloak, taking the chance to clean the blood that ran down his arm and wetted his palm.

Norris raised an eyebrow. "Well, Brigadier-General. I'm not sure if I'm willing to honor that star."

"I couldn't care less, Ferdinand. An old tiger like you wouldn't put much stock into rank anyhow," Farin replied with disdain. "And being a former black-cloak doesn't breed respect, does it Colonel?"

Locke watched the exchange between the two men. They seemed to know each other relatively well.

"I honestly didn't believe the reports: that you would be headed here with merely two men and a pair of civilians. You were fortunate I was already in the area," Norris said. "The men around here are usually don't ask questions until their arrows are in your back." He pulled at the reins of his mount and spurred the chocobo past Starson. "Now, show some manners General."

"Those two," Farin pointed back at Terra and Locke, "are the ones that the Governor wanted to meet: Terra Branford and Locke Cole."

"You would do well to return the favor I have shown you, General Starson," Norris rebuked as he stroked his cleanly shaven chin. "And yes, I recognize the girl regardless of the hair color, and for that reason solely I am glad you aren't dead." He turned back to the hooded commander. "Captain, take your patrol elsewhere. I will escort these five."

The soldier saluted and hollered out commands. His men followed as he rode away, and the archers disappeared into the fields of yellow grasses like ghosts.

"I trust that General Lilienthal is well aware of us?" Farin asked. His tone had grown slightly more respectful.

Norris turned his attention back to Farin. "Of course. If you would order your men to follow, I do believe we can reach Albrook before nightfall."

---

The city of Albrook was a great metropolis, its size only dwarfed by the grand capital of Vector. From the distance, the city looked like it was invading the ocean. Its harbors alone were larger than the town of Nestil, and enormous fleets of warships could be seen miles away. Buildings and streets covered the land as far as one could see. It was home for hundreds of thousands of Imperial citizens and unlike Tzen, it had somehow avoided the great flocks of refugees. There were no fields of tents or increased military presence. In fact, Locke and Terra noticed that there was a disturbing lack of troops all together on the edges of the city. The last time they had been here, General Leo had made it clear that Albrook had more soldiers policing the streets than the city of Jidoor had people.

They rode through the streets with a great escort of chocobo riders. A few of the soldiers had been sent farther ahead, to clear the way and alert General Remiel Lilienthal. How the soldiers had kept the streets clear for Norris Ferdinand and his entourage, Locke did not know. They had been to the city before and it was busy at all hours of the day. Crowded streets that made the markets in Tzen look empty; Albrook was the second heart of the Empire. Yet the route they traveled through the city was mysteriously empty and try as he might, Locke could not see a single soldier on crowd control duty.

Locke did not see any change in the city from the last time they had been here. Though the road they traveled was clear, he could clearly hear the crowds from other streets. It seemed as if the civil war had not affected Albrook. In fact, their journey to the city had been curiously calm. No patrols had stopped them, nor were there signs of heavily fortified entrenchments or deserted villages. Locke wondered if this had been intentional. Certainly Albrook had to have been taxed by the civil war. Danielle's description of the Civil War suggested that Albrook should be in the same situation as Tzen was.

They rode along a road overseeing the shoreline. Terra found herself staring into the great southern ocean. In the distance, the sun was setting amidst a cacophony of golden light. Smooth rolling waves broke upon the harbors of Albrook, showering those working on the piers in amber glitter. Terra's eyes feasted in the gentle hue and caressing radiance, bringing a soft smile to her face.

Locke stared at Terra, her form basked in the honeyed brilliance. Her short hair fluttered teasingly in the mellow sea-breeze, her delicate features accentuated in the sunlight. He found it was suddenly difficult to breathe.

As she turned away from the scenery, Locke quickly found the reins of his chocobo intensely engrossing. When he judged it was safe, he sneaked a glance back Terra. She was staring ahead blankly, her eyes watery while her lips trembled ever so slightly. The look of regret and pain made Locke's heart heave in anguish.

"We're here," Norris said as the group of some three-dozen men came to a halt. Before them was a great mansion that was walled off from the main city. The iron gates in front were guarded by two men standing at attention. Locke could count another ten behind the walls, chatting idly near the guardhouse. The sound of dogs could be heard from within the premises.

It might have been originally designed as a mansion, but it was a castle in all but name. Stone walls rose well over six stories high, covered with vines and crowned by guard towers. Locke imagined archers positioned in those high perches letting loose volleys of arrows at invaders that had broken through the front gate. The entrance was a pair of huge wooden doors, at least three men high, that was set within a stone arch. At the very top of the arch was a statue of an angel with spread wings, resting her lance on the keystone.

While Norris spoke with the guards at the gate, Locke looked over at Farin and his two men. Heavily outnumbered and deep within enemy territory, Locke realized that he had a new degree of respect for those three soldiers. From what he could remember of Danielle's long talk, Remiel Lilienthal had only wanted to see Terra. The four of them were merely extra baggage and could have been killed at any time.

Norris returned with a friendly grin. He brushed at his grey hair while addressing the men that had escorted them from the Albrook borders. The soldiers nodded as Norris gave them their orders. He turned to Farin. "General Starson, I regret to inform you that we can't allow you inside the mansion," he said.

Farin nodded. "It's expected," he replied.

"My captain here will escort you and your men to a hotel. Your rooms are already paid for. All we ask is that you stay in them for the duration of this trip."

Farin nodded again. "Your hospitality is appreciated. I just hope that you don't upgrade our rooms to solid stone and iron bars."

Norris grinned. "Just stay in your lovely suite and I'm sure nothing will happen. After a good night's rest, we'll discuss business."

About half of Norris' men led Farin, Donnach and Reinhardt away from the mansion. They rode away quickly and Locke suddenly felt strangely vulnerable with their departure. He pursed his lips together in confusion. They had merely switched one band of Imperials for another. Nothing had changed.

The remaining men began to dismount from their chocobos and Locke followed suit. He held out his hand to help Terra, but she avoided taking it and slipped off her bird with little effort.

Norris brushed at a speck of dirt on his cloak and then magnificently gestured at the mansion. "The General is waiting," he said.

---

Locke's assessment had been correct. The mansion's greeting hall could have put Castle Figaro to shame. The ceiling was twice as high than most, and the hall was decorated with great tapestries from wall to wall while the floors were covered with a thick, plush carpet. The walls were most interesting, they depicted some sort of grand battle between angels and monsters. Locke found himself staring at the scene in front of him. The angel in the center looked similar to the statue outside; her wings were spread wide while she wielded a mighty spear in defiance of the dark hoard. To her sides were two angels, their wings blackened or broken, lying on the ground in the throes of death.

"Beautiful, is she not?" Norris asked. "I always found white satin to be quite stimulating."

Locke averted his eyes when he realized Norris was referring to the angel's state of undress. He turned to Norris, who had a mischievous grin on his face that did not suit the elderly soldier.

Behind him, Terra was glaring at him.

"That's not what I was looking at," Locke grumbled.

"Yes, while I'm sure your excuse will be quite creative and what-not, I must insist again. Please remove your boots."

Locke realized that Terra had her boots off and Norris had changed into another pair of shoes. Both also had their cloaks off, Terra in the raggedy shirt and pants that they had bought in Nestil, Norris in long flowing grey robes. Somehow he had not heard Norris tell them to remove their coats and footwear.

"The General is quite insistent on keeping the carpets clean. Since you don't have a pair of shoes specifically for this household, you'll have to go barefoot," Norris leaned closer to Locke. He lowered his voice, but it was still loud enough for Terra to overhear. "I find going barefoot to be quite enjoyable. It's not satin sheets, but the carpets are quite sensual between my toes."

Locke grumbled as he removed his boots. He handed his cloak to one the soldiers standing nearby who hung his travel wear along with everyone else's.

Norris led them through the mansion, five men trailing behind them in similar shoes as the Colonel wore. Locke realized that the initial room had been the most poorly furnished area in the entire estate. The halls leading to the central chamber were decorated with great curtains flying the Imperial flag, magnificent paintings of the countryside or even more tapestries of angels. Suits of armor adorned every corner, while paintings of the sea decorated the few bare spots. A pair of men opened two sets of grand doors, made of polished metal, and the scene before them would have made a king envious. Marble statues that would not have been out of place in the center of fountains flanked both sides of great marble staircase. The wide stairs lead to a platform suspended in the air, which split into two more flights of stairs leading to the far sides of the room. Locke guessed that at least a hundred men could fit on the platform comfortably, and the space that the stairs occupied was larger than every single inn that he had ever stayed in. Servants hurried about while soldiers guarded many of the doors that led out of the central room.

They followed Norris up the marble staircase, which had a band of red carpet leading down the center of it. Locke's eyes were attracted by the great chandelier that hung from the ceiling. Finely crafted gold and silver with jewels of all colors held over a hundred candles in the air above the center platform. He guessed that for the price of the chandelier, he could buy a hundred ships and still have enough money remaining to crew them.

At the top of the staircase was a grand standard with a Coat of Arms displayed more prominently than even the Imperial flags. Locke knew at once that this was the standard of the House of Lilienthal.

On the third floor of the mansion, Norris led them past numerous guards and into a large expansive office. Bookshelves covered each wall and there were countless thousands of books held within. There was a single table, large enough for thirty men to dine on, littered with enough reports and opened books that it made Danielle's desk look organized. The table was expensive; Locke recognized the type of wood. He had given up trying to tally the costs of the mansion and decided to simply note the things of exceptional value. There was no reason for him to do such a thing, but it was an old habit that he enjoyed and could not quite suppress.

Leaning back in a tall cushioned chair, dressed in a fine blue coat and white ruffled shirt, was General Remiel Lilienthal. He had a book in one hand and read from behind a single monocle. A small oil lamp cast soft flickering light across his face, despite the entire room being lit by electric lights hung from the ceiling.

"General," Norris said as he saluted.

Remiel glanced up from his novel. He removed his monocle and set it on his desk carefully. Green eyes came up to judge those that stood before him.

"Norris, are these two the ones?"

Locke stared at the General in horror. It was a child.

Well, not a child. He was a young man, perhaps no more than eighteen years of age. Long brown hair that was done in a fine ponytail hung over one shoulder, his youthful visage offset by the serious look on his face.

Locke reminded himself that Celes was in her teens as well and she was a general too. The Empire had a peculiar method of promoting soldiers and seemed to favor personal strength over experience. He wiped the look from his face and put on a smile. The man might be seven years younger, but he was one of the most powerful people on the continent.

Norris nodded. "Terra Branford and her escort and friend, Locke Cole," he gestured at the two of them.

Remiel stood and walked around his vast desk. He held out his hand to Locke. "Remiel Lilienthal," he said as the two men shook hands.

"Pleased to meet you," Locke lied.

Remiel turned to Terra. He licked his lips. "Terra?"

Terra held out her hand. "Yes..." she trailed off.

Instead of shaking it, Remiel kissed her hand. He gazed into her eyes. "I must say, you are quite stunning in person. I expected your unique green hair though. I am unfamiliar with this style, is it new?"

Remiel was still holding onto her hand. For some inexplicable reason, Terra found it uncomfortable. She pulled her hand back. Fortunately, he did not notice the forcefulness of her actions and merely clasped his hands together. "No, it's not a new style," she replied nervously.

The General straightened. "Well then, please take a seat."

Locke heard the sound of men leaving the room; probably the guards that had trailed them the entire time through the mansion. Norris stayed though, leaning up against one of the bookshelves as he tried to make himself comfortable. Locke wondered why he didn't sit down; there were plenty of tall-backed chairs.

"Comfortable?" Remiel asked.

"Yes, but you'll have to excuse our nervousness," Locke said. "We're not really sure why we're here."

Terra was studying Remiel carefully. The moment they had met Norris Ferdinand, she had known that he was another of the magic-infused knights. He had a familiar aura about him that she could sense relatively easily. Unlike Danielle, he had not been hiding his abilities. Remiel might have been hiding his though, because she could not feel a similar aura. There was something there though, she was certain.

Remiel nodded and put away the novel he had been reading before. He closed the drawer softly and leaned back into his own chair. "Well, I must say I am somewhat taken aback by your appearance here. Danielle's communiquÈ was succinct, though that is of little surprise."

Norris chuckled. "She's short, sweet, and doesn't bother with any extra details. I doubt we have to tell you that though, you two already met her."

Locke noticed that Terra was looking behind Remiel. She was scanning the bookshelves, as if she was searching for something.

Remiel had not noticed her distraction. "Yes, to further our miscommunication, she neglected to alert us to the time of your arrival. I sent Norris post-haste upon reports of one Colonel Farin Starson being spotted approaching our borders."

"That would be Brigadier-General Starson now, General." Norris corrected.

Terra's eyes had locked on a single hardcover that was bound by gilded red leather. The words on the spine were unreadable, not from age but the runes were alien to her. Yet she felt a strange pull. There were many such books drawing her towards them all about the room, but that one red book was the strongest. The runes themselves seemed to reach out to her. They floated off the spine of the book, hanging in the air and distorting everything behind it. Heat seemed to shimmer in waves from each letter.

Terra heard the faintest of whispers emanating from it. The voices were too quiet to be heard but they gripped her with blissful noise; tantalizing promises that filled her mind with imagery.

"D¯d og ¯delggelse av verden," Remiel said quietly.

Terra snapped out of her trance. Her cheeks colored red when she realized that Remiel was looking at the book with her. He had read aloud the title of the volume she had been studying.

"Siste hÂpe for alt liv, ragnarok," Remiel finished reading the title and turned away from the book. "Does it interest you, dear one?" Remiel asked kindly. He did not seem angered by her curiosity.

"N-no," Terra stammered. She looked down at her feet in embarrassment.

Remiel glanced at Locke questioningly. Locke shrugged. He turned back to Terra. "As I was saying, I am uncomfortable with having a discussion tonight. Added to that fact is your nervousness. I doubt that Danielle was sufficiently tactful in her approach, though I am impressed that she swayed you to her cause. Her powers of persuasion must have grown since I last met with her."

Locke said nothing. Telling Remiel of their situation did not help them in anyways. If Danielle did not see fit to say something about Relm, neither would he.

"However, she did acquire your persons and I shall keep my end of the bargain. Compose thyselves, I mean you no harm and surely none shall afflict you under my watch. Norris shall keep you company for the night so that tomorrow," Remiel stopped, a smile touching his face. "Tomorrow, we shall dance."

"Dance?" Locke echoed. Locke wondered what he meant by 'dance'. The General seemed to speak a little like Cyan. It was probably a double-meaning of some sort.

"I am awfully rude today," Remiel remarked. "Yes, dance. Tomorrow is the end of the harvest season. The bounty was poor this year but there is still food aplenty and always a reason to celebrate. I host an annual ball here, within these grounds, and you should count yourselves lucky that you arrived in such a timely manner." His gaze settled on Terra. "Tomorrow night, you shall accompany me to the Messis Luna."

Terra's face was white. "Excuse me?" she asked.

Behind them, Norris chuckled.

Remiel gestured about him. "I have been immersed within my duties and forgotten to acquire an appropriate consort for tomorrow night. Yet it seems that the Gods have smiled upon me and delivered an angel into my midst. I would be a fool to squander such a beautiful gift."

Terra was torn between embarrassment and shock. She stammered nonsensically.

"This is ridiculous," Locke growled.

Remiel turned to Locke. "Feel free to explore Albrook in the meanwhile then; your invitation has just been rescinded."

"What?" Locke shot to his feet.

"Sit down lad," Remiel said as he folded his arms. "I may not have the temperament of Caleigh, but you stretch my patience."

Locke did not sit down and it took Norris' hand on his shoulder to force him back into his seat. He glared at Remiel, smoldering in rage.

"I did not request your presence, Locke Cole. The criterion I set was quite explicit. A single conversation with Miss Branford sans duress. You are neither welcome nor will you interfere with the ball tomorrow," his words became threatening at last. The kind manner he had regarded them vanished in the face of Locke's fury.

"I don't want to," Terra spoke up.

"Pardon me?" Remiel asked kindly.

"I don't want to go to this ball," Terra said. "It's cruel and unusual to twist this situation to your advantage."

Remiel acted mortified. "Surely it is not because you cannot bare the thought of being seen in public with myself. I may not turn heads during my nightly stroll, but I do have pride invested in my looks and charm."

Norris laughed behind them.

Terra glared at the General. "That's not what I mean," she said. It was true. He was quite handsome. His youthful vigor and sense of style were an attractive combination, and his manners were gentlemanly... when he was not threatening their lives. An ordinary woman would find him charming.

"Then speak your mind," Remiel said with flourish. "Insult me how you will, just avoid simply telling me I am an ugly man. I may not forgive that discourtesy."

Norris roared with laughter, nearly knocking over a shelf of books in the process.

Terra waited until the Norris regained his composure. She was still angry at Remiel. "I don't dance with strange men."

Remiel raised an eyebrow. "You are shy?" he asked.

She glared at him. "You know what I mean."

Remiel chuckled softly. "My dear, if that is the sole reason you have, then it is simply not enough to sway my mind. Please, prevail upon my conscience."

Terra blinked. Why was he doing this? She grumbled to herself as she thought of another excuse. This was beyond ridiculous, this was just madness.

"Well?" Remiel asked.

He was not giving her enough time to think. "I-" Terra's mind spun with reasons. What had Celes said, when they had convinced her to act on stage? No, even if she remembered the story correctly, those excuses would not be enough. Celes had ended up singing in front of several thousand, whatever she had said had obviously been a failure.

"I can't dance," she finally said. At least the excuse was true. She had never danced in her life.

Remiel was nodding his head in a knowing manner. "Yes. I too, share the pain of being untrained in the finer arts. My father felt such schooling was unbecoming for a strapping young lad."

Terra heaved a sigh of relief. That was lucky.

"Fear not, dear lady. I have redeemed my youth and have long since mastered the dance. As long as you follow my lead, you shall not fall," Remiel said with a grin on his face. "Any other concerns?"

Curses, Terra grumbled. Why couldn't this man take no for an answer? She couldn't think of any more excuses. "I have nothing to wear," she said knowing that it was weak defense.

Remiel sensed this as well. "Done," he pounded his desk with his hand and pounced on the opportunity. "You are unfamiliar with the city, such I shall have my best seamstresses and tailors find something to suit your dazzling beauty at my own expense." Before Terra managed to complain again, he held up his hand and stopped her. "There is no need to thank me for such kindness; it is I who is in your debt. Norris, please escort my date and her friend to their inn, I must return to my work."

Norris saluted and despite Terra's vocal opposition, dragged both her and Locke out of Remiel's office. The large wooden doors slammed shut behind them before Norris addressed the two.

"You two are both lucky, the General's in a good mood today. I've never seen anyone get away with so much."

Terra crossed her arms, an angry scowl on her face. Locke was silent, contemplating why Remiel had not threatened them as Danielle had.

Norris looked from one to the other, and then sighed. "I'll take you to your rooms. You will not be in the same hotel as Starson; most of them are completely full. Try to cheer up. General Lilienthal has been extraordinarily patient with both of you. I've seen nobles executed for less. You didn't even have the manners to laugh at his jokes." He lowered his voice but still retained his good natured grin. "A General's jokes are always funny. Don't you ever forget that."

"Honestly, who speaks like that?" Locke grumbled. "Remiel's a few eggs short of an omelet, isn't he?"

Norris frowned. "And don't cross him; I would hate to kill either of you."  



	7. Messis Luna

**The Seventh Chapter - Messis Luna**

Locke and Terra were brought to a small inn located in a wealthy district. It was a pleasant place to stay. The proprietor had gone to great lengths to make the small premises feel cozy and homely. Norris gave them keys to separate rooms and bid them good night. He had left no soldiers to guard them. It was unnecessary since he assumed they were there to help Danielle Meras.

In truth, they were nothing more than prisoners so long as Danielle held Relm hostage. Even if Relm was safe, it would have been foolish to try to escape or cause trouble within the city limits. They were outnumbered by the thousands and had no reason to bring the wrath of the Empire upon them.

Terra retreated into her room and despite Locke's best efforts; she did not speak with him. She was distressed over Remiel's invitation and brooded quietly in the darkness. She had led quite the sheltered life, had she not? Terra pursed her lips as she tried to pierce the fog of memories. Her amnesia had faded away but whenever she thought of the past, it was always a tasking prospect. Like breathing underwater, it never led anywhere and she had gradually stopped trying. The past was not important and when it was, her memories usually cleared up.

Terra nodded to herself reassuringly as she recalled her quiet childhood years. The memories seemed so fresh, so clear in her mind. She had never been to anything as extravagant; she had barely even talked to nobility before meeting Edgar, much less attend some fancy party. Considering the manner in which Remiel lived, Terra knew she had ventured far out of her league. Edgar and Celes might have preferred the richer lifestyle, but she enjoyed the simple things in life.

But why her? Why did Remiel bother with such a charade? He had wanted a conversation with her, not a date. She felt deceived; Remiel had probably planned this all along. Curse his devious two-faced nature. She had known it the moment she met him.

Terra frowned. However, he could not have planned this ahead of time, she mused. There had been no way to guarantee they would arrive in time for the Messis Luna. Had they delayed just another day in the Wilds, his plans would have been ruined. In fact, Remiel had even confessed to being surprised by their visit.

The General did not seem like the type to lie offhand, Terra admitted to herself grudgingly. He was just as crazy as the rest of them though, even if he was barely as old as Celes. The flashy green coat was different but the attitude was cut from the same erratic cloth as his peers. Certainly, Remiel was going to humiliate her. All the compliments he made despite how horrible she had to have looked after six days in the wilderness riding a chocobo... it had been designed to make her feel more comfortable so that he could crush her spirit with greater impact.

Terra shook in righteous indignation when suddenly she froze. Goosebumps ran down her back when she thought about the dinner with Gestahl. She had seen Remiel back in Vector during the short-lived truce. He had been one of the few men allowed near the Emperor's table. Remiel had not stayed for the meal but she remembered those unique green eyes. The look in them had been like a hawk's. He had been judging her worth, stripping her soul bare with the intensity of his gaze. No words had been exchanged, but she remembered thinking one thing: she never wanted to see him again.

It had not been just the eyes though. He looked so young but carried himself in a wholly different manner. The way he talked, the way he dressed... even the way he smiled. It was just so wrong. She could not place her finger on it, but there was something eerie about him.

The thought of his lips on her hand sent shivers down her spine.

---

Norris greeted them with a friendly smile early the next day. They had been treated to breakfast without charge; the hotel included a free meal for anyone that stayed overnight. Bacon and eggs was on the menu, the latter was so fresh that Locke would not have been surprised if there were chickens in the back with empty nests. The eggs were steaming hot and glistened from butter; they had been scrambled and garnished with a sweet-smelling sauce. The bacon was crisp and chewy at the same time, almost too salty but perfect when washed down with a cup of milk tea. There had been roots of some sort, Vais-something, Locke did not catch the name, on the side. They tasted like potatoes and he had downed them with fervor.

Afterwards, they had been served oranges. Locke had not seen a fresh orange in months. The sacrifices of heroes, he wistfully thought as he tasted the fruit. Pleasantly sweet with a touch of tartness, it was mouthwatering.

"Finished the meal?" Norris asked as he entered the dining room. His grey hair swayed from side to side, grazing the base of his neck ever so slightly as he joined Locke and Terra. Even in Albrook, most citizens gave the military wide-berth. But Norris did not look like the typical soldier and so did not scare the morning crowd. Around Locke's height, he looked like any other elder with a taste for comfortable flowing robes. His big grin only helped his friendly image. He was like a jolly old man; the grandfather at a family gathering who had too much to drink and could not stop laughing.

Terra placed her fork carefully on the brittle and expensive dishes in front of her. "Yes, I'm done," she replied. Her plate was still half-full, she had not touched the bacon.

Locke had already cleaned his plate, so he didn't bother saying anything and took the time to cleanse his hands in the lemon-scented water that was provided. In his mind, if the Empire was going to waste money on them, they should do their part in seeing the Imperial treasury just a little bit closer to bankruptcy.

"Great," Norris replied. "I'm sure you're eager to start your busy day, so let's go."

As they followed the old man outside, Locke wondered if it was mere coincidence that Norris caught them just as they were finishing their meals. In his opinion, it seemed too well timed. Locke glanced around, speculating whom amongst the friendly staff had been spying on them.

Even though it was late morning, it was still plenty cold. Mist formed as they breathed in the crisp and salty sea breeze. Frost could be seen upon parts of the sidewalks where busy feet had yet to tread. Terra was shivering slightly. Their clothes were poor protection from the biting winds and they had left their thick cloaks back in their room.

"Terra, this is Clarkson. He will escort you to Lindsay, Remiel's favorite seamstress," Norris introduced her to a man that fit the typical soldier stereotype perfectly. Large and imposing, Clarkson filled out the standard uniform of the Imperial Army with muscles honed from combat. Terra stared up at the blond haired soldier, rubbing her hands together for warmth while she gave a nod of understanding to Norris.

"As for you, Locke... you'll come with me," Norris said.

Locke narrowed his eyes. He was about to protest, but Norris cut him off before he had the chance.

"It's not exactly proper for you to follow your friend. She is being fitted for dresses and I doubt she appreciates the peep show you'll be getting," Norris gestured at Terra.

Clarkson had already started down the street, Terra trailing behind him and two more soldiers following her. They were out of earshot due to the cold winds, so Terra did not hear the comment.

Locke stared at Terra's back until she was out of sight. Then he remembered about Norris. He spun around and saw the old man far ahead in the opposite direction. Were it not for the uniqueness of his attire, Locke would have easily lost him in the relatively large morning crowd. Not even his sharp eyes could have picked out such an unassuming man amidst so many commoners.

Locke hurried to catch up, wondering what Norris had in store for him.

---

Lindsay was much older than Terra expected. For some reason, she had expected that Remiel would favor a younger seamstress. Perhaps someone as young as herself was impossible, but she had not anticipated a woman that would have better fitted the role of a midwife.

The seamstress was neither haughty nor condescending despite the prosperous business she ran. She worked uptown in the wealthy district, though that was expected given Remiel's fondness for her talents. Since Lindsay was used to noblewomen and wives of the rich Imperial businessmen, she was surprised by Terra's lack of deportment and wholesome attitude.

Much of the morning quickly passed by. Lindsay and her many assistants took measurements galore, stripped Terra bare and fitted her with plain clothes marked by an assortment of numbers. Lindsay was kind to Terra, recognizing her insecurities and gently advised her on proper mannerisms while she worked her magic.

Terra spent most of the afternoon with Lindsay's assistants. They bathed her and forced her through various other trials that seemed unnecessary for a simple dress fitting. Her hair was done and trimmed by a close friend of the seamstress, and jewelry was carefully matched to her skin in a rather drawn-out session. It was late afternoon before Terra tried on her dress, weary from being treated as no more than a mannequin. Lindsay instructed her carefully. The dress itself was not her eveningwear, but was meant to help her form and stature while Lindsay's assistants finished the final adjustments on the real thing.

Finally, the day ended. Terra waited patiently while the kind seamstress brushed at the brand new gown, smoothing out some wrinkle that only her eyes could see. Terra could barely recognize herself in the mirror. It was the first time she had looked in one since the morning and she had not expected the sudden change.

Whatever had been in the bath, it had invigorated and energized her. Her eyes were wide, her eyes a shade of blue that reflected the fairness of the clear sapphire sky. Her hair was an energetic shade of yellow, bright as the sun and shimmered in the light. Her features were flawless, her skin smooth and supple, her lips a delectable rose, and her cheeks were a soft blush.

"When did I-" Terra stammered.

"You had fallen asleep," Lindsay explained softly, "when Claire painted your face. I asked her to be gentle and slight. You are not one to require the heavy paint that many other ladies of nobler birth require."

Terra stared at her dress. It was a silky fabric of a milky shade of white that flowed over her form. It caressed her like morning dew, glistening like diamonds in the warm sunlight, as it trickled down colored leaves.

"Should this be so," Terra fumbled for the word. "Low? I mean, there's not much covered..."

Lindsay stepped out from behind her, staring both at her form and gazing into the mirror to judge. "My dear, you have a beautiful figure. I know many that would never be able to carry such an elegant and simple cut. You look simply stunning," she smiled. "I have no doubt that you will be the star of the ball. No man would refuse your hand."

Terra felt her face heat. "I've just never worn anything like this," she stammered.

Lindsay brushed at Terra's bare shoulder. She seemed to contemplate something for a moment before coming to a realization marked by the grin on her face. "Yes, those clothes you wore were certainly unfitting. I shall have some of my aides prepare you some proper daily wear."

Terra shook her head. "No no," she held her hands up. "I prefer those comfortable clothes." Seeing the look on Lindsay's face, she realized that the seamstress had misunderstood her. "I mean, I travel quite often. It's difficult to wear anything so majestic," she added hastily.

"Ah," Lindsay replied. An aged finger touched her lip as she stood deep in thought. "I'm sure I can convince Claire to set something out for you then. She comes from a noble upbringing but used to travel to the capital every month, so she'll know what's best. I'll have her lay out a proper wardrobe and have it sent to your room. Claire could use the practice anyhow and this won't cost you a dime," Lindsay winked.

Seeing there was no easy way to refuse, Terra grudgingly accepted.

Lindsay strolled off to a table hidden in the corner, picking up a thin silver necklace from a pile of fine jewelry. Her assistants had been unable to decide on the proper centerpiece for Terra and had left behind a small selection. Lindsay hung the necklace about Terra's neck, marveling at how well the silver matched her skin. A single sapphire rested just below her neck.

"About the stone," Terra started. It had an unfamiliar weight to it and she didn't feel comfortable.

Lindsay smiled. "Yes, you had a lovely crystal necklace. Would you prefer that instead of this jewel?"

"You can do that?"

"Well, I expected it really," Lindsay took back the sapphire piece and waved to one of her aides. "I was going to give it to you as a present, but since you insist now..."

A thin silver necklace was draped over her neck. Hanging from the center was her father's magicite remains on. It was slightly lighter than what Terra was used to, but it felt right against her chest.

"There, that's perfect," Lindsay said as she paraded Terra in front of a full-length mirror. She fingered the shards of Maduin. "What a unique piece of crystal, I've never seen anything similar. It's no wonder you're so attached to it."

Terra had never thought of about magicite in that manner. In fact, she had tried to think about it as little as possible. It was gruesome to know that espers were reduced to such remains.

"You'll be the envy of every woman at the ball."

---

Locke was sitting on one of the many piers of Albrook when Norris found him again. His pants were drenched as waves broke upon the harbor. He had a faraway look in his eyes. It was nearing sundown and Locke had spent most of his time in deep thought and recollection.

He had chased Norris down earlier in the morning and demanded an answer to why the old man had been constantly making witty remarks at his expense. Norris had ignored him and instead went about on errands. He walked around Albrook, talking to various guards and soldiers while Locke followed in a poor mood. It was nearly lunch when he could not stand the way he was being treated and gave Norris a piece of his mind.

Locke once thought that Norris' friendly grin was painted on; that the man was just never angry and could probably smile as he spilled blood on the battlefield. It seemed to fit the old man's carefree style. He could probably tell a comical story while medics stitched up his insides.

Instead, Norris gave him a taste of his wrath. Locke had cared little for the biting words that Norris said. The punishment, to be left isolated on the docks for the remainder of the day, was almost a reward. But Norris had said a few things that had touched something deep within him. The stirring of memories was unwelcome and unwanted. That had been the true punishment: words that left Locke questioning himself.

His feet hung off the wooden ledge and his back was against a damp pillar. The frigate before him was slowly making its way out to sea, its sails spread wide to catch the strong breeze. There was still much activity at the port, even though it was nearing winter. The ocean did not freeze over and there was business to be had and a war to be fought. This boat would be last to set sail before the sun sank below the horizon, but others would cast-off under the crescent moon.

"Your attentions are selfish and childish. You hardly treat her like a person. I saw the way you look at her, like she was something you lost. Even had I not been ordered to keep you away from her, I would have gladly done so of my own accord. It'd be best for both of you."

Locke licked his dry lips as he remembered the more scathing remarks. They had been pretty hateful and filled with curse words, but none struck a cord quite like that comment. He had gotten used to being insulted over the years as a Returner. The Empire's soldiers weren't exactly known for their eloquence, and working undercover meant lots of tussles with those rowdy men.

"-something you lost-" Locke repeated in a soft whisper. The cold winter breeze carried his words off into the endless expanse of the glistening ocean. He closed his eyes. The glare... yes, it was the glare that forced such a reaction. It was not as if he had been thinking of those three words for an entire day. Certainly no Imperial could...

Rachel.

Memories of his failure resurfaced uncomfortably. It had been a long time since he genuinely thought of her. The memories of that day were still crystal clear; his negligence by bringing her along for that one trip. He had been young and foolish; too overconfident from his previous successes. The pitfall trap had been hidden deviously... and he did not see it until it was too late.

She had suffered for his mistakes.

His fist tightened. And of course, the Empire had ended her suffering. For the Glory of the Empire, he thought as a twisted smile touched his lips.

Locke opened his eyes again, gazing into the sunset far off to the distant west. It was the same golden light; no longer warm because of the sudden coldfront but still equally comforting. His smile softened as he thought of the honeyed glow that had basked her.

Terra...

He had spent years within an impersonal shell, detached and impassive. Working with the Returners, he had ignored his own problems and focused on theirs. It had been easy to lose himself in his work. When basic survival was something hard fought and gained, there was little time for self-assessment. It had helped him forget what laid in Kohlingen. He wasn't sure what he might have done without Banon and his band of revolutionaries.

Then Terra had entered his life. She had lain there, wounded and in great pain, alone in the Narshe caverns after falling some distance; fragile and defenseless as the Empire bore down mercilessly upon her. Locke had done his best to save her from those heartless soldiers. Banon's orders be damned, he would have guarded her regardless of what the Returners wanted. He put his life on the line to protect her naivetÈ and innocence from the horrors of the unkind world.

The shock of realization hit Locke like a bolt of lightning.

"Locke."

Locke did not even hear the voice. His hands were trembling as he realized what he couldn't do; what he had failed to do. His teeth clattered, but he was not cold. He brought his feet close to his chest as he shook in anguish.

"Locke, these two men will take you back to your hotel. You will be guarded for your own safety until the night is over," Norris said to the thief's back. Seeing no reaction, the old soldier gave his men a nod and turned away.

Locke looked up into the darkening sky, unaware that Norris had already left. The clouds swirled together in a mix of purples and reds, twisting and knotting together in anguish as they devoured one another.

"You're safe with me," Locke whispered into the southern winds. He stood up and took a deep breath of the cold sea-breeze. "I gave you my word."

---

Just after dusk, one of the soldiers had alerted the two women that Remiel had sent a proper escort to retrieve his consort for the night. Like a doting grandmother, Lindsay had kept Terra company while they waited. She had no other customers that day or other affairs to attend to. Remiel had wanted her undivided attention and paid enough to guarantee that. Yet Terra was certain that Lindsay would have stayed by her side, regardless of money.

Lindsay had done her best to sooth Terra's worries while she went about closing her store. She had given Terra a scarf and one her aides had gone about looking for a proper coat. The issue of what kind of fur to be worn was argued amongst Lindsay's many assistants, and they came to an agreeable solution scant seconds before a soldier declared that the carriage had arrived.

The escort waited outside in the empty street. It consisted of a single carriage drawn by two chocobos, and four mounted men as guards. The driver was a soldier in ceremonial uniform and there were two more similarly dressed men standing guard beside the door of the carriage.

No one had expected Remiel to be present.

Lindsay and Remiel shared a friendly hug, the former blushing a furious shade of crimson when Remiel commented on her hair. The two conversed while Terra was fitted into the fur coat by Lindsay's aides.

The General himself was dressed in an extravagant red coat. He wore a fluffy white shirt beneath and his brown hair was slicked back by some sort of strange glistening substance. His pants were a similar shade of carmine, and his side was adorned by a gold hilted blade that was thin and dexterous. Remiel Lilienthal could have passed as a dashing prince with his boyish grin and merry disposition.

Terra might not have been able to name much of the clothing that Remiel had adorned, but time spent with the Returners ensured her weapons knowledge. The sword at his side was a rapier. It was a gentleman's blade, not in common use as it was far too flimsy for combat on the battlefield. Edgar had shown her the rapier once; it was light and relied on speed rather than brute force, suitable for a woman like her. Terra had never taken to any blade.

"My angel," Remiel said as his eyes feasted on the sight before him.

Remembering one of Lindsay's many lessons in proper lady-like deportment, Terra embarrassingly held out a gloved hand. Without further commentary, Remiel swept her away and led her outside into the biting cold. She entered the carriage -- awkwardly refusing the help of one of the guards -- and Remiel thanked Lindsay one last time before closing the door.

The carriage began to move slowly down the street, its wheels bouncing along the cobblestone road and causing them to bobble in their seats. Terra found the silence to be uncomfortable. "I'm surprised you came," she tried to start a conversation.

Remiel raised an eyebrow, confused.

"I mean, you're the host," Terra added. "Lindsay seemed certain that you would be busy at your manor, to prepare for the party or whatever else you have to do." She wasn't exactly sure what a host had to do. Remiel had plenty of servants, so she doubted he had to prepare food or set out dinning arrangements. She felt foolish, trying to talk about a subject she knew little of, and folded her arms protectively beneath her breasts.

The smile that touched his lips made her a bit more relaxed. "You're very correct. I have hosted the ball many a time. Since I pressed on you such extraordinary demands, I felt it was necessary to demonstrate my gratitude for your kindness." Remiel brushed at his brown hair and stared outside at the passing buildings, taking little note of her self-conscious feelings. "In addition, Norris is more than capable of entertaining the early birds. Certainly they enjoy his attentions. He is both deft and cunning amongst the nobles."

While he spoke, Terra stared at the weird golden belt he wore. There was a sash at the side, decorated by the petals of some purple flower, and filled with something that was pleasant smelling. It filled the carriage with a delightful scent, like tulips in the rain, without being overwhelming. Terra averted her eyes when his gaze returned to her. She rubbed her hands idly; it was freezing even in the carriage.

"It shall be a cold night. The winter has advanced unanticipated," Remiel noted her discomfort. "I shall hasten the driver."

---

Locke grumbled to himself as he stepped over the prone bodies of his two guards. The two men had been more vigilant than he had given them credit for. It took well over an hour before either had made any mistakes. Their diligence and attentiveness faded with each passing minute and Locke pounced on his chance the moment it presented itself; they did not have the great need that gripped Locke.

If his timekeeping skills had not failed him, the dance should have started a little less than half an hour ago. Locke surmised that he had plenty of time. The Messis Luna should last at least another two or three hours. He dragged the two guards down an empty hall in the hotel and into the cleaning closet. With luck, neither would wake before the night ended. With even more luck, neither would even remember what had happened.

Locke stepped out onto the chilly night streets, cursing the weather as he did so. Now that the sun had set, the biting cold winds were doubly freezing. He should have taken the uniforms that his guards had and worn that. It might have been warmer.

Too late for that now, he did not want to risk being seen going in and out of the hotel. There was no telling if Norris had anyone in the lobby watching him. Instead, he would keep to the backstreets and stay far away from any soldiers. It was likely that there would also be military in common wear watching the crowds; that had been how Norris had kept their route clear the day before. It was fortunate that he followed Norris around during the early part of the day; he had realized there were many soldiers that did not openly advertise their affiliation. Without uniforms, the men blended into the city life with relative ease and were the watchful eyes of the Empire's army. He would have to tread carefully tonight if he was to avoid being discovered.

Pulling his hood up, he slipped into the dark alleys of Albrook and made his way to the Messis Luna.

---

Terra had never known there were so many noblemen and aristocrats in her life.

Remiel's mansion, as great as it was, was completely filled with gentlemen and ladies from the highest ranks of the Empire. Many of the men had extravagant and meaningless titles when they introduced themselves. Few were of the military, and Terra came to the realization that Remiel's power did not stem purely from his military rank.

From what Terra gathered from the conversations between Remiel and his various guests, addressing him as a General was improper tonight. She stayed by Remiel's side as he acted in his capacity as the Governor of Alfort-Brougham, greatest of all civilian governments and second only to the Emperor. Though many were of noble houses, some of the men were commoners; cunning and ingenious businessmen. They had foreseen Gestahl's expansionistic inclination and had profited from it greatly. These men were now rich and powerful, wielding control of nearly every aspect of the Empire's economy. From farming to weapon-smithing, each was greeted with respect and kind words from Remiel Lilienthal. They were important and highly valued guests.

In return, these men showered the General with gifts. Business was conducted in casual conversations, to Terra's disbelief. No less than a minute had passed when she was first introduced to some rich lord before the man was already promising Remiel the resources at his disposal. Terra was astonished.

It seemed that Remiel had filled his capacity as governor quite well. Most of the men spoke of bureaucratic situations that Terra understood little of, but Remiel deftly handled. He was a suave young man; a friendly gesture and choice words usually tipped the conversation to his side had there been a decision to be debated, or a deal made between the Empire and its upper-class citizens. Few of the richer men, old or young, seemed to fear Remiel's military command. They talked to him like a good old friend, a valuable ally, and patted him on the back or made jokes at his expense. Remiel took things in stride, laughing at suggestions for a duel and deftly refusing the hand of many a nobleman's daughter.

Women loved him. Most of the ladies seemed to glow when they were spoken to, or turn shades of crimson when Remiel turned his handsome smile in their direction. Nearly all the women at the Messis Luna were attached in some fashion, so it seemed inappropriate that Remiel would flirt with them; even more so since Terra was at his side. However, by some manner of charisma he managed to do so without drawing any angry glares.

They were speaking with yet another guest. This one was a rounded man by the name of William Mildmay. He was the third William in the House of Mildmay. He also had some title: a Lord of yellow stalks of something or other, Terra did not remember. She had been introduced to dozens of such men and had promptly forgotten each title as it would was announced. It was rare that she was spoken to, so she was not tested on her memory. There had been a couple that lavished compliments on her dress, and one nobleman's wife had been thoroughly entranced by the crystal gem that hung around her neck.

That was not to say that Terra ignored all that was said. Most of it was harmless pleasantries, but she was sure to note anything that might have sounded important. One such topic was about the House of Lords. She had heard that phrase before, from the lips of Danielle Meras. It seemed there were many men from that House here in Albrook, and they all owed Remiel a grand favor.

William had a wife as well, and she was as rotund as her husband. Still, Remiel had showered upon her compliments and she blushed deeper and deeper until Terra thought she looked like an apple.

"Governor Lilienthal, I guarantee that nothing less than five shiploads delivered before the first snowfall!" William was saying as he ate a small piece of ham.

Yet another strange thing that Terra had noticed only once before back in Vector, extravagant dinners seemed to have dozens of trays of one-bite foods. Cheese of all shades of yellow, ham, beef, fruits like pears or apples, everything was available in portions that satisfied nobody. Terra was chewing on some pear and pork mix. It was delicious, despite her initial reaction at hearing such a strange dish. Remiel had suggested she try it though, and it would have been frowned upon had she refused.

"William my good friend," Remiel replied. "Five shiploads are more bountiful than I had ever expected, even from your magnificent and grandiose fields. Surely you outstrip even Rawson, who has promised only four and delivered two."

William chuckled, a loud noise that reminded Terra of a pig. "Rawson is a fraud, one so poor that even in his own hogwash he cannot better me. Not only shall I guarantee five loads, but if you have need for it, there shall be another three loads before the solstice to put Rawson to shame."

"The faith of the Lilienthal family has always lain with the lords of Mildmay," Remiel said. "That faith has been reinforced this day. It has been a pleasure to speak with you."

William shook Remiel's hand before he turned back to the crowds, calling out the name of an old friend as he took more of the single-serving ham chunks.

Immediately, another man took William's place. "Governor! It's a pleasure to see you looking so well and with so fine a lady-friend," the elder man -- Terra assumed he was a nobleman by the way he was dressed -- bowed deeply in her direction.

"Lord Mansfield," Remiel bowed as well. It was the first time Terra had seen him respond in such a fashion. "I am pleased to see you well, I had feared the worst. This is Terra," he introduced her.

Terra found herself blushing furiously as the nobleman kissed her outstretched arm. It was such a nice gesture.

Lord Mansfield straightened. He smoothed out the wrinkles of his expensive looking cape and turned to Remiel. "I must say, I am pleased by what happened at Actarin. It is by the grace of God that we smite the New Order."

"Were you not a Mansfield, the former Speaker and most importantly, my good friend, I would never allow such talk," Remiel's voice had taken on a different tone, one that Terra recognized from the night before. It was quieter and baser, but filled with authority. "Actarin was just the first of many blows that the traitors will suffer."

"The House is pleased with how things are being handled, Remiel. You are a rising star," Mansfield spoke to Remiel as an equal, Terra noted. "We all expect a short campaign in the winter."

"Lord Mansfield, the House of Lords shall not be disappointed. Your faith was misplaced, but now it is back where it rightfully belongs," Remiel gestured back at the crowds. "Please, enjoy the rest of the ball without thinking such depressing thoughts."

Mansfield merely nodded in reply and vanished back into the crowd.

Remiel gently led Terra towards one of the emptier areas. There was a door guarded by a soldier in ceremonial dress nearby, which probably explained its lack of use despite the overcrowding. The ballroom itself was near the back of his mansion, but the guests were so numerous that they filled all of the central room and many of the halls leading towards the front doors. Even the landing on the marble staircase was packed with various nobles of all shapes and sizes, chatting amongst themselves and enjoying the benefits of their luxurious lives.

It took a while for them to make their way to the guarded door. Remiel met two more men, nobles this time, and spoke to them for a short while before politely excusing himself. As Terra followed Remiel away from the two nobles and their ladies, she felt eyes of disdain on her back. She had felt those same stares all night and it made her nervous and self-conscious.

The guard opened the door for Remiel without question and they entered a small study that was devoid of people. Terra was relieved by the break; it took a lot of effort to act prim and proper in front of so many nobles. They were all discerning and discriminating, snobs to the very core and ready to pounce on any that they deemed as riffraff. More than once she had been afraid that a lord would publicly denounce her, calling her a fraud and a commoner unfit to be at such a gathering.

Terra sighed in relief as she sat down in one of Remiel's plush chairs. She had done so carefully though. Her dress felt almost fragile to her; one tug and it might tear apart. But her diligence was rewarded; the satin cushions were luxurious on her bare back and gently supported her sore neck. She closed her eyes and rested.

Remiel took a sip of water from a convenient glass and adjusted his hair slightly in the mirror hung upon the wall. He turned his attention to her. "You are absolutely stunning this night," he commented.

Terra brushed at her knee, the dress was draped around her crossed legs and flowed in such a manner to her bare thigh. "Considering what I've seen tonight, I think you could have easily found a more willing and fitting date," she said quietly.

Remiel looked at her quizzically. When she averted her eyes, uncomfortable under his scrutiny, he set his glass down with deliberate care and lowered himself to one knee. He took her gloved hands and stared deeply into her eyes, holding her gaze for a long time.

Terra found it difficult to breathe as he held her in this way. Her heart pounded as those emerald globes drew her in and consumed her world. When at last he stood back up, she took a deep breath and shook her head in disarray.

"Terra, it is truth that perhaps a more accommodating and certainly more enthusiastic consort could have been found. But more fitting? I am skeptical of that fact," Remiel said.

Terra had regained her senses. "I just feel like everyone is looking down on me. It's really tiring."

Remiel raised an eyebrow again. He judged her for a moment before breaking into a great grin. "Terra," he said. "Your self-denial is unbecoming. Not a single man introduced has been anything but entranced by your beauty. So captivated they have been, none chastised my flirtatious nature like in the past," he laughed slightly. "Why, you not recognize the looks of envy upon the faces of their wives? Were you any more attractive, surely I would have a riot upon my hands."

Terra blinked, confused.

Remiel sank to one knee again and held her hand. "Your angelic and beauteous form shall be discussed between nobles for months to come. I predict no less than twenty unhappy wives because of this day."

Despite her previous feelings towards Remiel, she giggled at his words. She felt calmer and a bit less timid.

Remiel glanced down a gold pocketwatch that hung from his belt. "Fortune is on my side, for the dance is about to begin. Come." Remiel held out his hand.

Terra took his hand and followed him back into the ballroom.

---

Locke hated dogs.

He didn't know when it happened. When he was a child, he used to love dogs. They were cute, and the way they waggled their tails looking for attention was adorable. They were also totally loyal and lived up to the nickname: man's best friend. They had soft fluffy fur and were a bundle of joy to play with. There had been many nights when he had fallen asleep beside one, too tired from playing games to stay awake any longer.

Locke thought of his past and dreamt of better times as he hung precariously off the walls of Remiel's mansion. Below, guard dogs had followed his scent but caught nothing. They circled around aimlessly, confused by diverging scents of salted meat.

The guard dogs could have been dealt with easily had he been willing to kill them. But Locke had been afraid that doing so would attract attention and instead picked up some specially salted treats, perfect for distracting guard dogs. The plan had worked and the dogs ran around in circles until annoyed guards came across their charges chewing away happily. Locke had no doubt the diversion would be successful. He had done the same thing many times before, such as in South Figaro when he and Celes had been chased by Imperial trackers.

With a grunt of effort, he pulled himself up and grabbed a hold of the green snakelike vine. He tested its strength; the weeds that grew on the walls could not be fully trusted, before he swung over and managed to catch onto the ledge of a window. Bits of aged stone fell to the ground as his fingers dug into the windowsill, gripping it tightly lest he fall all the way to the ground. Though the fall itself would not be dangerous, the renewed danger of the guard dogs certainly was.

His muscled arms flexed as he pulled himself up. Balanced hazardously on the windowsill, Locke Cole -- famed treasure hunter -- took a quick glance inside through the glazed glass. He might have been in trouble had someone been looking out at that very moment, but fate was on his side and no one was there. The hallway that led past the window was completely deserted, save for the two motionless suits of armor at the ends of the hall. They gave the impression they were guarding the house against intrusion.

With a silent chuckle at the irony, Locke tried to open the panes, but realized that they were shut by a lock. No matter, he went about the familiar task. His hands were a blur while his mind wandered. He was well-versed in the art of lock-picking. It was a rare day when a lock required substantial effort on his part.

The window opened with a click, and Locke slipped indoors with a grin on his face. Warm air was his reward; it had gotten incredibly cold waiting outside for a noble to ambush. He closed the window carefully, locking it from the inside again, before he walked down the hall.

Locke brushed at a sprig of the vine that had caught itself on the elaborate coat he wore; the green stuff fell to the ground and lodged itself in the carpet. He tugged at the fancy collar, loosening it slightly. The shirt was itchy and a bit small, the coat a colorful disaster, but they would have to do. It had been difficult enough to lure a nobleman into the secluded alley, much less pick and choose the clothes he would steal. He left the poor man lying in a chocobo stable so that he would not freeze to death before he made his way to the mansion.

Locke was thankful that Norris had taken them around the mansion the previous day. Even though it had just been a single path towards Remiel's study on the third floor, it had been enough. He knew the general layout of the house and made his way towards the central staircase. Hopefully, the guard at the doors would not ask any questions and he could blend into the crowd without trouble.

Luck was definitely on his side, the guard at the door did not bat an eye as he stepped out onto the grand marble staircase and down to the mezzanine. The lights had been dimmed and there was a great crowd clustered about the edges of the platform. Locke had to squeeze through many of the larger guests, apologizing the whole time as he inadvertently elbowed a few in softer places. Despite the large number of people though, it was astonishingly quiet.

A murmur of adoration rippled through the crowd; the various "ah's" echoing in waves. Locke wondered made his way to the side of the platform and looked out into the expansive ballroom.

The focus of the dance, a ballroom twice the size of the front hall and hundreds of times better decorated, could be easily seen from his position on the marble staircase. He was not the only one looking in that direction. Every guest had clustered about trying to attain a better view. Most had not been able to squeeze through like Locke had; their girth had prevented such acrobatic maneuvers.

Locke's breath caught in his throat.

In the very center, where a small clearing amidst many beautiful women and finely dressed men had formed, was where all attention converged.

"Terra," he whispered.

Her dress, a soft pearly white that seemed to flow in a soft breeze, swayed as she danced with Remiel Lilienthal. A smile was on her face, her lips a rosy shade, her skin flawless, as she followed Remiel's lead. Every single eye in the audience was upon the two. The music seemed to flow from their movements, for certainly they were not restricted by something so earthly like a band. They encircled one another, their movements fluid and graceful, and mesmerized the crowd of hundreds.

Locke could not tear his eyes away from Terra. She was magnificent, a vision of beauty from his dreams, as she gracefully spun and swayed. Her shape in that dress made him sweat, and the look of delight in her eyes lifted the darkness from his heart and replaced it with joy.

With great effort he turned away. Eagle eyes took note of the positions of soldiers, men in ceremonial uniforms but still wearing deadly steel. They blended into the crowd well but not well enough. A few were on the balconies and one was even near him. He saw the outline beneath their sleeves and knew what they were there for. Locke continued to scan through the crowd and picked out two more men. His experience told him that these two did not belong, no matter how well they fit in. At once Locke understood what must be done.

She did not see him in the great crowd when the dance ended. The thunder of applause overwhelmed the mansion in its magnitude, drawing a blush from a surprised Terra. Her eyes swept the various peoples of the Empire, the cream of the crop, and her smile widened in their love for her. They cheered for her, a half-Esper that had been all but openly hated during the Vector truce, and blew kisses at her feet. The more daring approached her, and there were many of them, and showered upon her the finest of compliments.

Unnoticed by all, where once a young blond-dyed rebel watched with his conviction in his heart, there was only a single green sprig lying on the luscious carpet floor.

---

The dance had quieted down, many of the older guests having left as the night grew old. Still, there was a great crowd still roaming the grand halls of Remiel's mansion. Though the most important already had their audience, those looking for advancement in the Empire still sought the Governor's good graces. However, Remiel had excused himself for the night to the disappointment of many. He thanked them in his usual charming manner and left Norris to deal with the fussier of the remaining noblemen.

Terra followed Remiel away from the ball, the smile on her face gradually fading away as she remembered what she was really doing in Albrook. It had been a fun night and she had blissfully forgotten many of the tasks ahead of her. She had enjoyed the crowd's kindness. It had been so nice when they adored and complimented her. They had showered her with their love and it was a wonderful feeling to be in the center of such delightful attention. So many had clamored for her to stay, saddened by her unshakable attachment to Remiel Lilienthal. Terra had simply smiled back warmly and thanked them for everything.

But her mood darkened the more she thought of the future. Terra began to feel guilty enjoying the ball, remembering the horrors that Relm, Setzer, and Strago all faced. Even worse, she had been delighted beside Remiel, an Imperial general no less. Memories of the Empire's wrongs flooded back, leaving her thoroughly guilt-ridden and regretful.

She tightened the silky scarf about her neck, frowning as she followed Remiel through more guarded doors. Terra realized something was wrong when the guards were no longer in ceremonial uniforms. The tasteless uninspiring brown leather returned in force, worn by vulgar guards that towered over her. They leered at her flesh, and Terra felt more self-conscious than ever in her flimsy dress.

"Where are we going?" she asked worriedly.

Remiel did not respond, instead unlocking a heavy wooden door with a key that hung around his neck. He turned back to her, gesturing down the darkened stairs.

Terra's heart pounded, images of the dungeons beneath Remiel's grandiose manor suddenly overwhelming her. The cold stone walls, damp moss-covered floors and rusted iron bars that kept the most twisted of criminals locked away. She took a step back in fear. "Wh-what are you doing?" she gasped.

Remiel had lost the good-natured disposition that she had grown to love during the evening. He pointed to the basement again. "After you," he said in an uncharacteristically solemn tone.

Terra tried to swallow, but her throat was suddenly dry. She eyed the darkened stone stairs with an ever growing feeling of dread.

"You have nothing to fear, this is a conversation where we will be free from interruption. Nothing more, child," his words had a slight edge to them and Terra did not notice the dangerous look on his youthful face. She took a deep breath and descended down the stairs, carefully holding her dress as she did so.

Torches lit with a puff of smoke as she approached them, the flickering light bringing back unpleasant memories of the airship crash and those horrible nights in the wilderness. They descended two flights down the spiraling stairs before arriving at the bottom.

Remiel stepped out in front of her, opening yet another locked door with a different key about his neck. The steel door swing open with a hideous screech.

There was no dungeon to Terra's relief. It was a lab, or so Terra gathered as she entered behind Remiel. She did not recognize much of the equipment upon the tables, nor did she recognize blackened machinery that stretched into the ceiling and had wires running along the walls like vines. Pipes, some clear, others old and rusting, were connected haphazardly from one machine to the next. Strange colored fluid, certainly not water, ran through the translucent pipes and left a trail of grotesque waste.

Unlike the stairs though, it was well-lit by strong electrical lights that left everything in a yellow hew. For some inexplicable reason, that made Terra feel better.

Terra followed Remiel through the lab. She made sure to avoid touching anything, much of the stuff arrayed on the tables seemed incredibly fragile. Considering Remiel's worsening temperament, she wanted as little trouble as possible.

At the very end of the lab, as far away from the stairs as they could get, Remiel stopped suddenly. He cleared a table with a single sweep of his hand, equipment clattering to the ground and glass beakers shattering, before he sat down on the old table. He shook glass shards off his long sleeves and loosened the collar on his ruffled white shirt, undoing a few of the buttons in the process.

Terra hardly noticed. Her eyes were wide, her hands trembling uncontrollably, as she stared at what was hanging on the wall above her. A little moan escaped her throat as she backed away.

Remiel stood up on the table, the wood bending slightly under his weight, as he retrieved the tiara from the wall. Still silent, he jumped down and strode towards her menacingly. No words were required to reveal his intent; it was obvious what he planned.

Terra fell backwards, pain shooting up her back as she landed on the cold stone floor. Her dress was wrapped about her legs as she panicked, trying to get away from that horrible, terrifying crown.

Rusty colored metal bent into a crude circle. The ugly ring had small barbs protruding at regular intervals around the edge, pointed inward so that the wearer would press those implants against their head. Those barbs were just sharp enough to press painfully into the skin, but did not draw blood. Not that it mattered. The horrors inflicted by the machination outstripped anything physical pain could give. Terra shook uncontrollably, her chest heaving in labored gasps as she stared at the object of her darkest nightmares.

The slave crown.

"Please," Terra sobbed as she tried to get away. Now her flimsy dress did not seem so fragile as it twisted around her ankles and bound her legs together. One hand propped her off the floor, else her bare back would have lain against the frigid ground. Her free hand pointed at Remiel, shaking involuntarily as she tried to think of a spell to defend herself.

A ball of fire, weak and sickly, launched forth at Remiel. It had been the only spell she could think of in the hysteria that gripped her, and as she watched Remiel sidestep aside, she knew it had not been enough.

Before she could say another word, Remiel closed the distance between them and clamped his hand over her mouth. Her eyes went wide as she tried to scream, her cries muffled by the forcefulness of his grip. Her hands grabbed his, clawing at them in a mindless frenzy as she tried to get away.

The crown was mere inches away from her eyes, the glistening spikes promising her the return of the cold embrace she dreaded most. Tears ran down her cheeks as she continued to struggle, her screams of terror unheard and ignored. Remiel was stronger than she was and the crown was ever closer, beckoning with its horrible cry.

Obey.

The touch of metal on her skin shocked her to the very core, drawing upon hidden strength that refused to ever be subjected to that horrible fate again. Revulsion welled up within, and a horrendous force deep within surfaced in the face of this specter of the past. In her hysteria, she had ignored the tremors of awakening. Now her control slipped; logic and sanity had no place in the face of this ordeal. Instead she felt herself taken by the monstrous fury that had overwhelmed her in the past; except this time, she gave up willingly.

Better death.

The red sheen called forth covered everything, her vision totally enveloped by the glowing aura. In the space between time, where a moment was infinitesimal and her will the uncontested dictator, the world could be bent and the elements subjected to her every whim.

The madness within, a raging storm that had always threatened to surface, consumed her. She had the power; the power to annihilate everything. The power to end all life. They were mere insects in her holy majesty; her flawless perfection in the midst of twisted aberrations. They were merely a quirk of reality. Abnormalities unfit to live, much less impress their arrogance upon her.

The crystal upon her chest heated and glowed a deep red. It would have burned a lesser woman, but she simply ignored the pain. Yet the warmth brought with it a moment of clarity, and her target changed to what was truly a threat.

The crown shattered into a thousand pieces and before a single shard reached the ground, it was incinerated into nothing more than ash. It had required no more effort than a single thought. Her power was nigh limitless and it was time to teach these infidels what true power was.

No! She shook her head as she barely kept the spellform from erupting and consuming thousands upon thousands of lives. The heat upon her chest was beginning to hurt her, and the pain let her focus again.

Then the heat disappeared. She blinked. Cold metal was upon her chest.

For the first time, she noticed the point of a thin blade held to the base of her neck. Her eyes ran up the length of the flexible metal and the hand that wielded it until at last she stared into threatening green eyes. It had been so quick that she didn't see it coming. Metal smoothly thrust against her chest, aimed at what had seemed to be most dangerous: the glowing red magicite remains of Maduin.

"Revert, or die," Remiel Lilienthal whispered.

The power came unrestrained and flooded her veins, her vision, and her mind.

Remiel had withdrawn himself, the distance between them exactly the length of the rapier at her throat. Though there was a glimmer of uncertainty upon his face, his eyes showed the unshakable belief within him. Within him, there was no fear.

This... thing had dared presume his earthly weapon was a match for the divine power at her fingertips? Her mastery of the seraphic energies that swirled within, white-hot fire that filled her with righteousness, would tear the infidel apart as he so richly deserved!

"That was a big mistake," she sneered in a voice that was not hers.

The thin blade shattered as the crown had before. Such was small sample of her might. Might that would now be directed at the infidel that had dared oppose her. Her power was limitless and she would teach him that lesson. In her mind's eye she could see the city of man, Albrook, and how it covered the once-beautiful countryside. It filled her with disgust. The fungus that had grown out of control would be cleansed.

First, she would right this insolent fool. How dare he threaten her! She envisioned his punishment: Flesh bubbling in the flames of her righteous anger, screams of torment for the crimes he had inflicted upon her. She could see the blood boiling within his lungs as he struggled for breath, red mist exploding out of his mouth as he died. The life slowly draining out of those green eyes she hated so much while she stood over him. He was at her mercy.

No. That punishment was not enough.

The spells came to her instinctively, power untapped in millennia but reawakened immediately. For his insolence, she would destroy all that he cared for. First those he cared for, then the cities he loved. She would cleanse the world of his filth.

Suddenly she howled in pain. Her chest grew hot, hotter than the infernos she commanded. She couldn't breathe, couldn't see, and couldn't focus. She tried to fight the fire but it was overwhelming. Her last thought was to ignite the city with her spells, but even that failed as she collapsed to the ground.

---

Remiel Lilienthal, General of the Empire, smoothly pulled up his left sleeve. He pointed with a small crossbow bound to his arm; the loaded poisoned bolt was enough to kill a man thrice over. He fired without a second thought.

His right sleeve had fallen down, but failed to conceal the other crossbow bound near his wrist. It was unloaded of course, unloaded into the chest of the half-Esper. He had learned of the poison used by the researchers in Vector years ago, and always kept his own supply just in case. The crossbows he had strapped on at the end of the night, when the Esper was too busy responding to her bewitched crowd.

The sheath of his rapier fell to the ground, useless. He drew a knife from his boot and carefully closed the distance between he and the Esper. He had taken no chances this night. Two bolts so close to the heart would be enough to knock out a dragon.

Remiel looked down. The Esper's skin had gradually faded from its white glow and her long purple hair reverted back to its revolting green shade. That was unexpected. Then he frowned. Here he was, towering over the dead body of the Esper like in so many of his dreams, yet he still felt no sense of achievement this night. It irritated him that even though justice had been served, he found no solace. He looked up in the direction of the heavens. "Do you deny me even this?" he screamed to them, cursing their names and sending a kick to the side of the Esper.

He wasn't surprised when she opened her eyes and coughed. It brought a smile to his face when he saw her struggle to breath, grasping at her chest where the bolts had been. That brought the frown back. Where had the bolts gone?

The Esper then pulled herself up. He saw a look of pain and despair on her face. Then she brought her legs close and huddled in a ball on the icy stone floor. With her arms wrapped around her bare legs and her face buried against her knees, Terra cried.

Remiel Lilienthal took a step back, surprised, and felt something he had never expected to feel.

---

"It never worked."

Terra wiped her eyes and looked up at Remiel. He had his red coat off, his white shirt partially undone and his legs crossed as he sat on a table. He was looking down on her but his expression was unreadable. Terra sniffled, trying to regain some measure of composure. She had not known how long she had cried but given Remiel's demeanor, it had been quite a while.

"It never worked you know. All our attempts at duplicating the artifact met with miserable failure," Remiel said offhandedly. He gestured to the wall that he had removed the slave crown from. "We tried for years to copy the technology and we never came close." He laughed dejectedly. "The destiny of the Empire was magic, and yet we couldn't even figure out how to recreate this simple spell."

Terra rubbed her eyes again.

Remiel gazed up at the wall. "You just destroyed the prototype. It was the closest thing we had to a working model. After a couple dozen tests, the thing was deemed useless and the entire project scrapped."

He raised an eyebrow. "That had been five years ago," he added.

His demeanor had changed in some fashion. His words no longer carried the characteristic enthusiasm or the hint of sophistication that had become expected from him. In fact, his speech had changed completely.

Green eyes locked on her. "Terribly unfortunate... that it never worked."

Terra got to her feet slowly. Her calmer mood had allowed her to easily untangle herself from the dress. She straightened the straps before she self-consciously covered her chest. Terra drew a deep breath before turning to Remiel. "Why did you show me that thing?" she asked. Her voice was hoarse from crying.

Remiel sneered. "Because you wore it, little child. Our fates were intertwined the moment I stole that artifact for the Emperor, so many years ago. That alone is more than enough for you to see what the Empire had done with your enslaver." He folded his arms, giving her a self-satisfied grin.

Terra narrowed her eyes, shivers rippling down her back. She might have heard wrong, but she swore her ears were not at fault. "You stole it?" she echoed.

Remiel grinned menacingly. "That's right. I stole it for the glory of the Empire in the first and only real successful raid into the Esperworld," he spat as he spoke that last word. "I tore a path through the stupid espers and turned their sacred temples upside-down. At the head of a two-hundred man company, I gutted and slaughtered the few defenders of their holiest of buildings. A waste of time it had been, we couldn't find anything that was remotely magical in nature other than a few pathetic trinkets. Religious artifacts of some asinine kind, totally useless to us. The scientists that we had along were beyond angry, considering how many we lost in order to secure those temples. Then, fate in its ugliest form led me into the embrace of a pitfall trap, one that nearly broke my back. Isolated from my men, I made my way in dark through ancient tunnels long forgotten by their creators and caretakers until I came upon a hidden room. The door that I opened led back into one of the main chambers, and after I called for my friends, I turned my attention to the prize in the midst of everlasting candles. A certain tiara-like crown that had been hidden unlike anything else."

He brushed at a strand of brown hair before continuing. "The Emperor gave us free reign to take back all the ancient magical items that the Espers had stolen from our world after the Great War. Hundreds of artifacts had been liberated in that great raid. Though it was costly, all agreed that the price was worth paying. After all, who would have thought that the Espers would have something so hideous in their grasp?" he chuckled softly.

"You..." Terra pointed at Remiel. Something was not right here.

Remiel ran a hand down his brown hair, flipping it over his shoulder as it had gotten in the way. He stared daggers into Terra. "Yes, I am the reason why the Empire attached that lovely little crown over your head."

The rumbling within returned, but she suppressed it easily with her feelings of horror. "You couldn't have been in the Esperworld," Terra whispered. The fine hairs on the back of her neck stood up, warning her of danger. "You're as old as I am, and I was still a baby when the Empire broke through the Sealed Gate," she pointed at Remiel. "You're lying," she said with increasing confidence. "That was over a decade past, there's absolute no way you could have been there."

Remiel raised an eyebrow. "My dear Esper," he said mockingly. "We attacked the Esperworld exactly sixteen years ago. You were barely two years old back then; the most prized of all prizes. A child sired by a human and an esper in matrimonial blasphemy." He stood up and approached her menacingly, dagger in hand.

Terra took a step back, but found that she could not. His iron gaze held her to the ground without the aid of magic.

"I am thirty-five years of age," Remiel said. "Sixteen of which have been robbed from me." His mouth twisted into a sneer of pure hatred. "Robbed by magic that defended that fucking slave crown."

The deadly expression on his face left Terra unable to breathe.

The dagger danced along his shirt, so fast that it was difficult to see anything but the thin cut that appeared down his chest. Remiel grabbed at the cut and ripped his shirt aside, his smooth muscled chest revealed beneath the fluffy white fabric.

Terra's eyes widened upon seeing the scars. Red, brown and blue, they twisted their way over his breast. It ran through his nipple, down his side and disappeared into the trousers he wore with no sign of stopping. The hideous disfigurement captured her gaze, horrendous as it encroached upon his perfect bronze skin and leeched the energy from it until all was dead, mere cracked grey leather where life once was. Nearly half his chest was grey, dried skin only broken by the terrifying scars.

"My god..." Terra whispered. An aura emitted from that terrible wound overwhelmed her. It was a stench of pure unbridled repugnance. It drew tears from her dry eyes and a gasp of pain from her hoarse throat.

"Magic," Remiel sneered again. "The disgusting truth of its monstrous nature." He pulled the shirt back over his scars, Terra gasping for air as the aura was suddenly lifted away.

"It will kill me," he said as he turned away with a look of contempt on his face. "It takes its time, keeping me youthful; robbing from me of my maturity." He strolled to the front, where he clenched his fist and immediately smashed the delicate lab equipment. Glass exploded into thousands of fragments, tearing apart his fist and drawing fresh blood that ran in rivets down his hands.

"Remiel..." Terra whispered.

Remiel Lilienthal turned around to face her. His youthful visage was a mask of hatred. "Irony at its finest! Visiting upon me eternal youth at an age too young for me to enjoy, while slowly raping my body until I die from the poisonous spells." He raised his arms into the air, fists shaking at something only he could see. "I condemn it all! Magic and its profane and sacrilegious esper-kind!" he screamed at the top of his lungs. His eyes locked on her, his hands slowly returning to his sides. He had a vicious look on his face, both raging anger and perverted lust.

Terra held her hands close to her chest out of fear. She looked at Remiel in despair, no longer able to see the kind young man that had been her date; the gentleman that had swept her off her feet and her partner in her first dance. His face was twisted in hate, and she was incapable of seeing the kind doting smile that he had given her before they had danced before the crowd of hundreds.

"Magic is like a cancer, a plague upon this world. In the past it crushed civilization, tearing a hole within the world and taking from us the Dieties that guided our lives. The War of the Magi," Remiel's eyes were wild. "Espers tearing the lands asunder guided by only their hatred for humanity. The horrors they wielded spilt our blood and tainted the oceans crimson. Our only chance had been to visit upon us the greatest of crimes; the malignant curse set upon mankind when magic was bled into our bodies and used as weapons. It ended in darkness, the corruption and infection stopped only by the grand scale of atrocities committed. Untold numbers of innocent lives taken by magic, millions of millions killed for no gain. An apocalypse that wiped the world clean and left us to die wallowing in the sea of faceless corpses."

Remiel lowered his arms. "Quoted from the diary of a Mage Warrior who survived the war," he said with a sneer.

"Gestahl, in his arrogance and boundless stupidity, saw fit to revive the ancient menace. Bring the disease back into existence and base our great Empire about it. Had I the knowledge, the foresight, I would have ended his life years ago." His tone softened and he had a look of regret on his face. "But I didn't. I was not learned enough and so the blame lies upon me as well. For allowing the ancient menace to return and threaten all life, I will be punished. The destroyer of lives, awakened under my watch is an unforgivable crime."

"It does more than kill," Terra whispered weakly in defense of her kind. But even she did not believe the words she spoke. She was haunted by the feelings that had not faded away... the tantalizing promise of boundless power.

"Yes," Remiel's eyes grew distant. "It certainly does more than kill. It subjugates and enslaves humanity to its will." He spread his arms around. "Look around you. The Empire, humanity's greatest minds working together to create the grandest machinations. Technology under science, researched by years of effort and based on pure and natural principles. All undermined by the mysticism of magical artifacts stolen from the Esperworld," his voice grew hateful again. "The most brilliant of minds coerced into reading ancient books like pathetic priests. Forced into looking for ridiculous prayers to infuse magic into our machines. Lowering us to nothing more than barbarians staring into the skies and asking for divine guidance."

"Look at the Magitek! Those towering weapons that were first born from the combined efforts of years of research. Now they are barely worked on, barely acknowledged as flawed and in need of repairs and upgrades. Instead, our researchers are busy extracting magic from espers and infusing it into our own people!" he screamed in anguish. "Our own children! Used as test subjects so we may inject them with the pestilence, the disease of immeasurable evil!" He slammed his fists down again and again until his hands were swollen and bruised, screaming curses all the while. The table nearly crumbled under the repeated blows, cracks appearing down the center where Remiel's fury was directed. Terra flinched with each blow, certain that he would strike her given the chance.

At last, Remiel calmed down. He regained his composure quickly and pushed aside the mess of brown hair that covered his eyes. "Even though Gestahl knew what magic had done to me, he didn't care. He knew what it turned Palazzo into, but he still didn't care. He tried again and again for he had you, proof that it was possible. And each time he created monstrosity after monstrosity, until he finally deemed it a success."

His calm disposition vanished again, his eyes widening as he thought back into the past. "Then he infused himself and it took from him the last of his humanity. It gave him power, dark and corrupted, and devoured his soul as its price." He sneered. "Fitting, that it would betray him in the end. That it would kill him in its most unmitigated form, before the very Dieties that govern magic itself. That is all magic is, after all. The dealer of death. My hatred of it knows no bounds, and you-" he pointed at Terra. "You are the personification of the cancer upon mankind."

"Why?" Terra whispered. "Why did you make me go through all this, if you hate me so much?"

Remiel turned to her, his eyes not hateful but still contemptuous. He leered at her, the strength of which made her feel naked in front of him. "I wish to see my enemies at their best, so that I am secure in righteousness of my cause. Nothing is more humiliating and disgraceful than taking the life of an innocent. I would never forgive anyone for doing such a thing."

He gestured at her. "I do not lie. You are gorgeous and the centerpiece of my annual ball. I have a sharp eye and discerned that beneath the dirty skin and shy demeanor was a woman of angelic proportions, capable of causing grown men to forsake their vows for but a single night with her." He turned away. "Yet at the same time when I see you in your glory -- the height of your existence -- I see exactly the monster you are. I know the best and the worst of you, both the apex and the abyss."

Terra's hand wandered up to her neck and clutched at Maduin. However, the magicite was gone, shattered by Remiel. The familiar weight was gone. She had nothing to draw courage from.

Remiel walked away, picking up a glass filled with a strange glowing red liquid. He swirled the stuff within the beaker for a moment before his face twisted in anger and he smashed it to the ground.

Terra shrank back when Remiel turned his attention back to her.

"Magic kills everything it touches. It's a cancer, a plague, a disease that cannot be cured. It will doom all that it encounters for it is nothing more than the taker of life. Death and destruction in a carnal mix of unbridled evil," his eyes were distant, as if he were quoting texts from which he spent so much of his life studying. But Terra found little solace knowing that he was only repeating from memory. Her own words were returning to haunt her.

"My fate is already etched in stone, and so has yours," Remiel pointed at her. "You will poison everything you touch, everything you care for and everything you love. You are the messenger of death, the bane of the innocent and curse of humanity."

Terra sank to her knees as she shook in fear. "I'm not-" she whispered to herself.

"Those close to you have already been marked. Their fate will be horror beyond imagination. Even those that have depended on you but for a moment, like Meras and Starson, they too will find themselves upon the doorstep of death with you as the gatekeeper," he prophesied. "Ragnarok indeed," Remiel swept his hand in finality, leaving her to drown in the grief of her own self-loathing.

Terra stared at his shrinking back. The fancy red coat was like blood upon his lean and muscled frame. She shook, overwhelmed by the hatred that gripped her. Wretched thoughts, distressing and depressive, broke through the locked doors in her mind. She hated her ancestry, her magic, her very life. She could still feel the power that rumbled deep inside of her. It had been so seductive. She had given into its siren song and nearly killed hundreds of thousands of innocent lives.

Terra closed her eyes in shame. She had almost become the horror she dreaded so much. She had been willing to kill so many with the wave of a hand. Her birthright, her very nature could not be atoned for. Everything she had done had been a failure. When she had tried to help Narshe by speaking to the Esper, she had nearly killed her friends and flew off in frenzy. When she had tried to convince the Espers to help the Returners, they had struck Vector in force and killed tens of thousands. Her trip to Thamasa... she trembled uncontrollably, tears flowing down her cheeks while clenched fists shook with pain. Her trip to Thamasa had gotten Leo, Yura and all Espers killed. And her trip to the Floating Continent unleashed the apocalypse and caused this: the Imperial Civil War.

She was a monster.

Terra opened her eyes and stared into the heartless green gaze of Remiel Lilienthal.

"Kill me," she whispered. She surprised them both with the strength and power of her words.

There was no forgiveness on his youthful visage. Remiel Lilienthal did not respond to the strength of her conviction. Instead he turned away from her and seemed lost in thought.

Terra wondered how long they stood there. The air was thick with tension and she wondered how long she could last before her strength faltered. Then Remiel turned back to her. There was no forgiveness in his eyes, but neither was there the murderous rage that existed before.

"No, Terra Branford. Against my better judgment, I will let you live," he said.

Terra wasn't sure whether she was relieved or disappointed.

"You are a grave danger to humanity," Remiel continued. "I have looked in your eyes and I have seen the destructive joy that danced within your true form. To say that you would have enjoyed killing me would be an understatement."

The horror of that truth hit her like cold water. She trembled with the realization of how her powers could change her.

"But I have already killed you today," Remiel said with a touch of disappointment. "There is nothing down that path, for either of us." His predatory gaze softened. "And I admit I was wrong, I had never expected to see you..." he paused, searching for words that escaped him.

"I never expected remorse," Remiel Lilienthal sighed deeply. "I had convinced myself that you were a monster and ignored the facts that I had seen all day. I ignored my own devices and judged you irredeemably guilty. By doing so I have betrayed my own ethics and as such, I am no better. I'm sorry, Terra Branford. I was wrong."

Terra didn't know why his apology meant so much to her, but it did.

"I have dreamed of this night for years. I have gone through the possible events a thousand times; a fantasy that could never be realized. And yet here it has, but it unraveled like nothing I had ever expected," Remiel stated. He took a deep breath and gestured. "Thank you, you may leave."

Terra blinked. "Leave?" she echoed in disbelief.

Remiel nodded. "You may return to Danielle Meras with confidence that our alliance shall be without further delay. As such, I have no right to hold you any longer." Remiel gestured at the stairs far behind him. In the chaos of the slave crown ordeal, they had switched positions and he was between her and freedom.

He was holding something back, Terra could see it. "But?" she asked.

For the first time that night, Remiel smiled. It had such warmth to it that Terra instantly knew: the charming smile that she had seen all night had been fake. "I want give you a chance; a chance to redeem yourself. It's something magic had never given me, but I feel that you should have it." He waited until she gave him a nod to continue. "I want you to go the front. You will go to the Core of the Empire, in the midst of Civil War. I want you to use your magic to save those innocents, and in doing so, atone for all the death and destruction of your past."

Terra was struck speechless. She thought about his words for a while. "I don't know if I can save... anyone."

"I don't doubt for a moment that your magic is strong enough to defend those in need," Remiel replied smoothly. "Mine is a selfish request, and one that I will not force upon you. However, if you succeed..." he trailed off.

Terra watched Remiel's facial expressions conflict with each other. His lips twisted from a warm smile to an angry sneer and back again. She wondered what Remiel was thinking that could cause him to act this way.

"If you succeed," General Remiel Lilienthal proclaimed with a flourish. "Then I will ensure that the Empire shall never make war again."  



	8. A Bargain Struck

**The Eighth Chapter - A Bargain Struck**

Farin glanced over at the growing pile of folders. "Perhaps I should reconsider letting you recognize my rank."

Norris scratched at his cleanly-shaven chin, as if he had still had his beard. "Well, considering what we're trying to accomplish here, it would be best if we went through every facet at least once. At least this way, we don't waste our superiors' time. Not to mention the fact that delaying this by a single revision could take weeks. You know how the nobles get..."

"Your patience for this bureaucratic nightmare is saintly," Farin grumbled to himself, opening the folder and flipping through the parchment with disgust. Though he had been through his share of paperwork -- no one in the upper ranks was immune to that responsibility -- he hated it with a passion. It was drivel that should have been dealt with by aides who were unfortunately absent. If he was back in Tzen, he could assign it to any number of staff sergeants. Here, he had the two fools that were his friends.

It was not as if Reinhardt or Donnach could help him here. They were not talented on this battlefield.

"I entertain nobles. If you think this is long-winded, you should try listening to a Speaker of the House," Norris rebuffed.

Their existence in Albrook was still a secret. The escort they had entering the city had been insignificant compared to the entourages that had accompanied most of the noblemen at the Messis Luna. The annual celebration had given them what they desperately needed: a distraction. While a treaty between these two factions would have been unlikely, it did not mean that they were safe from prying eyes. Anson Tilton certainly had spies within Albrook and Tzen; he had been well connected throughout his career. Maverick Drummond might have had some loyal men in the area as well; the General's popularity within the armed forces had been one of the many factors that led to his appointment during the Marandan War.

Most of these informants would have been in place long before the storm clouds had been visible upon the horizon. Power struggles within the military had been commonplace, though few amongst the elite could have expected the events of the past two years. After Kefka had betrayed Celes, every general realized that Emperor Gestahl would not interfere despite their long service and respected positions. The generals schemed behind their Emperor's back and the possibility of a coup d'etat became very real. Those events would have signified the Emperor's downfall had he not raced them to the grave with his obsession of magic.

If either faction heard that there was the possibility of an alliance between Meras and Lilienthal, the war would quickly become a two-sided affair. That was the worse possible situation since it would prolong and even strength the current stalemate. Thus, two men who rarely stood in the spotlight were writing a piece of paper that would change the course of history. Farin Starson and Norris Ferdinand were known to be warriors, not strategists. Their disappearance could be easily rationalized, unlike Major-General Karen Alysworth -- Imperial Second Army commander-in-chief and Remiel Lilienthal's right hand -- or the equally ranked Layton Yarrow of Danielle Meras' Imperial Third Army.

Farin and Norris sat in a moderately comfortable banquet hall somewhere in the outskirts of Albrook. It was out of the way and served their purposes well. Rumors of a soldier with hair shaven flat would be given little attention, given the events at the annual ball.

Countless voices had told Farin of a certain star at the Messis Luna: an angel clothed in white who had danced alongside Governor Lilienthal and blessed the Empire with her charm and grace. It was the talk of the town thanks to the work of two stealthy photographers. The Messis Luna was always an invite-only celebration. In addition to that, it was a highly sought privilege that was only given to those of noble birth or wealthy background. That made sneaking into the Messis Luna a highly lucrative proposition. Newspapers loved gossip and despite the lack of pictures -- the two photographers had allegedly been ambushed and their cameras broken by twenty soldiers -- the story was still printed.

Farin chuckled to himself. It was obvious that the two photographers had been placed there by Lilienthal. The Governor was well versed in swaying public opinion to his side, using subtle techniques like those publications civilians loved so much. What was curious was why the photographers had been attacked, but Farin supposed that there was some manner of psychology that he was missing.

Reinhardt and Donnach had served as Farin's eyes and ears while in Albrook. Farin was afraid of being recognized, so the two men spent their days and nights at the local taverns. They were more than motivated to complete the task at hand. After listening to dozens of drunks, it was their esteemed opinion that the beauty at the ball was likely the half-Esper. They could not explain the change in hair though. All descriptions of the angel had described wondrous shoulder-length blond hair.

The day after the Messis Luna, Terra had long green hair.

Indeed, it was most surprising. Farin had never seen her in Vector during the short-lived truce with the northern continent -- there had been an issue with a certain group of rogue Magitek pilots and she had departed by the time he returned -- and so he was astonished by the color of her hair. Reports and pictures could not convey the exotic nature. It had taken a life's worth of experience to prevent him from openly gawking in amazement.

"You should be aware that those folders," Norris pointed at another pile, "are in direct response to some of General Meras' more..." Norris searched for the right word. After a while, he shrugged his shoulders. "Well, the more absurd proposals," he stated plainly.

Farin glanced up from his thoughts. He stopped pretending to read and took a quick glance at the folders. His frown deepened with each passing paragraph until he was completely disgusted. "Without full disclosure of our entrenchments," Farin growled, "it would be folly to try to coordinate any useful stratagems between our two forces," he glared at Norris, trying to discern the truth from his annoying jolliness. "It would be amazingly stupid to do anything else," he said in a similarly blunt tone.

Though they discussed politics, the two men were also soldiers. They were not diplomats and they had been quite direct in dealing with each other throughout the day. There would be no grudges kept though. Considering the history between the two soldiers, it would take much more than mere words to anger either.

"It's politics really. Until our superiors get together and work out the details, we're not giving you classified military positions. Surely you understand that much," Norris replied.

"I understand, but it means wasting precious weeks of possible action," Farin replied. "With proper coordination, we could very well take Vector within the month. But it would take at least two if we do otherwise, and that's only if all our forces are mustered. Last time, you held back a great deal of your strength."

"That can't be helped. But considering your forces were also held back in reserve -- not to mention the events at the last battle -- I think you should drop this point," Norris' tone grew dark. "We're being more than reasonable, Brigadier."

Farin sighed. "This will delay the liberation of Vector until the deep winter, perhaps until winter solstice," Farin's glare darkened. He knew the true reason behind this refusal to coordinate. Though the events during the Siege of Vector had been a bloodbath, Remiel Lilienthal was not concerned of a repeat of that tragedy. No, it was the man's nerve. The coward was being overly cautious and was sentencing some half-million to frozen death because of his weak will. "That's unacceptable, if not downright idiotic," Farin voiced the last of his thoughts.

Norris shrugged. "It's just a little snow. What's wrong Farin, scared?"

Behind them, Reinhardt chuckled. While that would have normally irritated him, Farin let it slide. After all, Norris' bravado was nothing more than a charade. The older field officer's own body language betrayed him.

Farin let the detail slide and instead flipped through more folders. He scanned them briefly. Danielle would have her aides do a more thorough search. For now, his job was to search for anything unreasonable, not discuss the fancy terms used in the dissertations.

His eyes settled on a couple clauses that he was not happy about. Although Danielle would not have cared, he did. They were civilians. It was improper for such requests to be made, even if the two were acquiescent.

Still, Lilienthal had been insistent. It was not his place to argue such trivial matters, as morally wrong as they were. After all, the lives of all in the Core were dependent on the treaty they were creating. In comparison, two civilians were a small price to pay for the salvation of thousands.

Duty demanded that he protect his people. If this meant accepting Lilienthal's cowardice and his eccentricities towards two young civilians, then Farin would do so. There were millions of lives at stake.

---

Edgar was busying himself within a secluded room of Kenneth's house. The doctor had so many patients that he had moved Strago and Setzer into the safety of his own home. Kenneth was sure that neither man would require any immediate medical assistance, and his office was close by if the need arose. Feeding the two comatose men had been all that was required of Kenneth and that job was now given to Edgar.

The King of Figaro flipped past another page, reading the book of medical terms with feigned interest. He was getting very restless and agitated. With each passing day, the fate of Relm and Terra became more and more uncertain. The thought of Locke now angered Edgar almost as much as the thought of the Empire. He had been a fool to let Locke connive them into such a dangerous and foolish plan.

It did not help that neither Strago nor Setzer seemed any closer to reviving. Though Kenneth promised they would wake soon after the delivery of the laryl, his predication had passed over a week ago. Edgar was less than pleased.

He carelessly tossed the medical dictionary onto the pile of books where all the finished literature laid. He had either bored of the material or finished it from cover to cover. Descriptions of medical instruments, procedures for field surgery, preparation and use of medicinal herbs, there was even a book on substituting for a midwife. Edgar had tried to forget the problems they faced by losing himself in Kenneth's world. That had not worked very well, but at least in the privacy of the library, no one noticed his troubled mood.

Cyan seemed no better. He was probably locked in his room within Garrett's house, meditating or whatever else he could do in complete silence by himself. The old knight was incredibly withdrawn and only moved when it was necessary to purchase more food from the market -- and only then because they owed Garrett so much for his troubles.

The sound of metal pans dropping to the floor made Edgar's heart jump. He shot to his feet and ran downstairs. Edgar jumped over the banister, the grin on his face widening when he saw who it was. He landed noisily to see Strago peeling off bandages around his arm.

"Well, Edgar," the old mage's scratched at the long white beard that had developed during his coma and twirled his thick mustache around a finger. "It appears that I have been a burden for quite sometime now."

Edgar grinned. "I'll get you some food and a knife to shave off that mess. You have no idea how glad I am to see you again Strago."

Strago scratched at his beard while his dark eyes lit up at the mention of food. "Considering the length of this beard, I am surprised you had not simply given up on me. But yes, I would love something to eat, lad."

---

The old mage refused to eat until he was clean-shaven and his signature white mustache trimmed in a civilized manner. His hair was still frazzled and in disarray, but he didn't seem to mind as he ate leftover stew from the previous day. His eyes kept darting to the next room though, where through a partially open door laid the comatose form of Setzer.

Bidden by Strago's wish to learn all that had happened during his long sleep, Edgar began to recount everything that had happened since they had crashed in the forests north of the Tzen Mountain range. Strago grimaced at hearing about the darkness that shrouded their journey, and the incredible odds they faced in order to make their way to Nestil. He bowed his head when Edgar recounted the passing of Michals, Davis, Gau and finally Marcus. By the time Edgar was speaking of their journey through the mountains, Strago had stopped eating out of respect and was listening attentively.

When Edgar ended the story on their arrival in Nestil, the two men sat in uncomfortable silence for a moment. It had been a while since Edgar had thought about their fallen comrades. Repeating the story with little emotion was a tough task, even though it was expected from a man of his position. A leader could not show weakness. His late father had taught him that.

At last, Strago spoke. "I am truly sorry we were such a burden my friend," he said calmly. "We owe them a great deal -- myself especially -- and when there is time we must prepare proper memorials for them." He pushed the bowl of cold soup aside and sighed. "For now we should pray that they are at peace while we continue the fight for their hopes and dreams."

Edgar squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. "It is one thing to fight, but another to sit here patiently doing nothing. Others risk their lives everyday; the Imperial Civil War shows no signs of coming to a peaceful end. I've heard horrible things, like the fall of the government and nobility... chaos and anarchy grip millions of lives and I sit here reading medical literature!"

Strago raised an eyebrow. "You are a king. Patience is a trait that you must have, and to watch impartially while your men die upon the battlefield is a hardship you must endure."

"The burden of command," Edgar mumbled. He shook his head as if it would erase the rumors of the violent rise of a new order in the south.

"Now tell me Edgar, what of the Statues?" Strago asked. His dark eyes were focused as he asked the question most pressing on his mind.

"What about them?" Edgar was caught off-guard. He hadn't thought about them for a while.

"They were moved," Strago pointed out. "That would be the only explanation for the emanations from the Floating Continent. The Statues cannot ever be shifted from their positions without incredibly careful deductions. Merely pushing them a step to either side could cause untold amounts of destruction, and leaving them in such a pattern would be incredibly dangerous. I explained this to you at length before we landed on the island," the lore-master folded his arms and quizzically looked at Edgar. "Surely you have sent Celes and Terra to fix the arrangement?"

Edgar had forgotten Strago was never told of their activities on the Floating Continent. Once they had boarded the Blackjack, they had been busy escaping the Imperial Air Force. There had been no time to explain everything that had happened. Unwilling to begin the recounting of yet another tale, Edgar shook his head. "We don't actually know what happened to Celes," he answered.

Strago's eyes went wide. "You don't know?" he asked incredulously. "What in the name of the Goddesses does that mean? She is incredibly important to the stability of the statues, something you have given little thought of!" Strago leaned over the table, pressing his finger hard against the young king's chest. "You children should have your priorities straight. Have all that I taught gone to waste?"

Edgar brushed Strago aside and waited until the old man had returned to his seat. "Listen Strago, I admit that we had forgotten about the Statues-"

Strago winced. "You forgot? How do you forget the foundation of magic and the essence of deities? Three Goddesses in stone and you forget about them? Do you forget to breathe as well?" he admonished.

"We forgot about them because there had been other issues at hand," Edgar raised his voice so that Strago would quiet down. "The two of you needed medical attention and we're still hiding from the Empire. The Statues were just forgotten with the immediate dangers about us."

"Immediate danger, yes yes!" the lore-master stood up and waved his hands wildly. "You're right, we're in grave peril! Like hanging off a precipice, each passing day the balance of magic becomes more and more unstable! Soon the Phantom Train is going to make a stop, and all the souls of the world will board his cars if we do not restore the positions of the Statues!"

Edgar narrowed his eyes. "Enough with the dramatics Strago. Nothing has happened since the blasts of magic from the island. My magic is still working fine and Carbunkl hasn't warmed up in the months past."

Strago sighed as he paced about the room. "You don't understand. The Statues are quite complicated and it doesn't help that there have never been any books on the subject matter. Only the Espers knew what the Goddesses had done to themselves, and they hid the Statues away to ensure nothing would ever happen to them. If the arrangement is broken, then who knows what could happen!"

"Well, do you know what would happen?"

Strago blinked. A blank expression was on his face, followed by confusion. "Well, all sorts of trouble..." his pacing had slowed down substantially.

"What kind of signs? Wouldn't we feel emanations like how the magicite pulsed during the Floating Continent's breakdown?" Edgar asked.

"I suppose. But we don't really know why the magicite pulsed like that," Strago mumbled.

"And how much time do we actually have?"

"Not much," Strago answered.

"How much?" Edgar repeated.

Strago stroked his mustache as he thought of an answer. "I'm not sure," he said slowly.

"And how can we fix the Statues?"

Strago stopped pacing. "Well, I don't think we can do anything. I mean, I think we would have to trust the instincts of Terra and have Celes help her. But that's only because Terra is half-Esper and I believe she would know what to do when the time is right."

"So really we don't know anything, and you want us to go on a crazed quest to deal with a problem with unknown consequences that we don't even know how to fix," Edgar finished.

Strago watched Edgar, his wizened face showing lines of strain as he thought over what the king had just said. "Quite perceptive, lad," Strago sat back down with flourish. "Very well, at least tell me where Celes is. Even if I can't answer your questions with certainty, I have perceived her significance during these troubled times and worry for her safety."

"Well," Edgar began. He wondered how he was going to tell Strago that Celes and Shadow had stayed on the island.

Strago watched Edgar fidget for a while and grew suspicious. "You're hiding something else from me, aren't you?" he asked.

Edgar cleared his throat. No matter what he said, Strago would figure out the truth sooner or later. There was no reason to fabricate any lies. "Celes never left the island. She stayed behind with Shadow to take care of Kefka. We have no idea what happened to her."

Strago's mouth hung open in shock. He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples as if he had a headache.

"That's not all. In order to save your life and Setzer's, we had to get an herb from Tzen. We couldn't all go because the Empire would catch us, so only Locke, Terra-" Edgar paused and judged the look on Strago's face. The old man had snapped to attention when he heard Terra's name and did not look pleased.

Edgar had no choice; he could not hide it from the lore-master for much longer.

"-and Relm went." Edgar said quietly.

The look on the old man's face became menacing.

Edgar averted his eyes. "The herb was delivered by messenger. We haven't heard from the three of them for weeks now."

---

Cyan was entering Kenneth's house by the backdoor, a pack containing medical supplies from the doctor on his shoulders, when he heard the crash of chairs and the ensuing sounds of a struggle. The Doma Knight dropped the bag on the floor immediately, drew the hidden knife at his belt and rushed inside. His eyes darted from side to side as he made his way through the house swiftly.

The scene in the kitchen was startling. Strago -- who should have still been comatose -- was on top of Edgar. A broken table was beneath their sprawled bodies upon the tiled floor. Strago's hands were at the king's throat, and there seemed to be some sort of weird orange liquid dripping from their faces.

Strago was screaming something at the top of his lungs, his anger in total control of the typically reserved lore-master. Cyan sheathed his knife. There was no immediate danger, even if it did look like Strago was going to tear Edgar apart with his bare hands. What was Strago yelling?

"-you pathetic excuse of a man! To take my granddaughter-"

Suddenly, Cyan knew what had happened. He grasped all that occurred with crystal clarity and immediately went to Edgar's aid. With two hands firmly grasping Strago's shoulders, he pulled the old man off Edgar with ease.

"Get your hands off of me you fool!" Strago screamed. "The idiot-"

"Calm down Strago Magus!" Cyan hollered.

"I'll disintegrate you for your-"

The old man's feet were hanging off the ground, kicking uselessly while his eyes directed murderous fury at Edgar's sprawled form on the ground. He fought Cyan's grip in his rage, and in response the knight spun around and shoved him against the wall with tremendous force.

"Silence!" Cyan commanded. His dark eyes threatened to punish any further transgression on Strago's part.

The wind was knocked out of Strago for a moment and there was silence. His struggle to catch his breath seemed to help his mood. It calmed him down and the anger drained from his eyes. Yet the two men still glared at one another.

"Let go of me," Strago struggled to keep his anger in check as he continued gasping for air. "You have no idea of what I am capable of. I will strike you down with magic so horrifying you will rue the day you were born." His eyes seemed to glow and the air about him crackled with deadly energy.

Cyan quickly measured how quick it would be to knock the old man unconscious. Perhaps that would be the least bloody solution.

"You have no idea how much she means to me," Strago voice was breaking up between every strained breath. "I trusted you people..."

Cyan's gaze softened upon hearing those words. A pang of loss began to well up from within.

Strago tried to swallow but his throat was too dry. "The horror of losing her, I can't stand it. You simply don't know-"

"No," Cyan interrupted. "I do know."

Strago's eyes darted at Cyan's face, the old Doma Knight's face showing the pain that he had suffered through. His voice had been soft and his tone had been one of complete understanding. Within the knight's sad eyes, Strago could see the horrors that the Empire had inflicted upon him. The scars of war were painless compared to the loss he had suffered: the deaths of his countrymen, his liege, and his family from cruel, slow and indifferent poison. He had suffered through endless terror as he realized everyone at the castle had drunk the deadly water. Poisoned until just the smallest push would tip them over the edge, and when that last push was finally delivered, it choked them in their own blood until they died a gruesome, prolonged death.

Cyan watched his family die before his eyes. He had found Owain lying in a pool of blood upon his bed, his son's hopes and dreams forever lost. He had held Elayne while she coughed up her innards. He had watched the life seep from her weary eyes, knowing that only death could relieve her of the horrific pain she suffered.

"I'm sorry," Strago whispered. He collapsed to the floor once Cyan let him go. "I was heartless, my friend," he apologized in a hollow voice.

---

They sat together in awkward silence. Edgar knew the situation had to be resolved at some point, but they had too much to deal with and little time to lie down and heal their emotional hurts. The older men were lost in their own thoughts of despair and grief, each thinking of their loved ones instead of the troubles at hand.

Edgar was familiar with Cyan's troubles. The Knight had once spoken of his last days within Castle Doma, in an attempt to sway Edgar and the Elder of Narshe to fully commit their forces against the Empire. The Knight rarely ever spoke of his past, but that had been an exception. It had been important for the Northern Continent to fully ally themselves against the threat of the Empire. Cyan's haunted eyes had done more than simply convince Edgar; it had deepened his hatred of the Empire when he had never thought it was possible.

Cyan had kept his feelings to himself. Edgar had once thought that the old knight, with far more years of experience handling the death of comrades upon the battlefield, could handle the ghosts that haunted him. However, that had been naive. What could possibly prepare a man for his wife and child to die in his arms? Cyan might have channeled great effort into the fight against the Empire. He might have been a bastion of strength, emotionally unwavering during the heat of battle, and a silent pillar that they could always depend on. But they had ignored his pain -- his needs -- and used him selfishly for their own gain. Edgar hung his head in shame.

As for Strago, the old man had to steel himself for the worst that could happen. It had been weeks since they had last seen Relm. It was very possible that she had died saving the life of her grandfather. Edgar could see Strago visibly shaking as he fought the demons within.

When at last someone spoke, it was the voice of Cyan. The knight had come to some sort of mental conclusion, and his words carried more strength than ever before.

"When Setzer wakes, we shall make way to Cartha. There, we shalt rest until he is fully healed and finally journey to Tzen," Cyan declared.

A moment later, Strago nodded his agreement. "That is the only way without forsaking Setzer," he concluded quietly. "The gambler did not abandon everyone on the Floating Continent, and we will not leave him alone in the midst of the Empire."

Edgar understood what Strago meant. He also knew that the grandfather must have been dying on the inside. He could have suggested leaving for Tzen alone, so that he could find Relm as soon as he could. Those few precious days could be the difference between Relm's life and death. Instead, he had chosen the honorable route. It was left unspoken that they might have sealed Relm's fate with their decision.

They tried to rationalize their choice. Setzer had earned their trust. They could not simply abandon him when he was on the cusp of death. They could not go as individuals either; it was too dangerous for them to split up. It had been that kind of thinking that had thrust this dilemma upon them in the first place. Finally, Relm could still be safe with Locke and Terra. They did not know what had actually happened in Tzen. As nerve-racking as it was, her fate was unknown and perhaps she was fine.

There was also the matter of the Statues. In an emotional rage, that issue had been forgotten by Strago. But Edgar did not forget. His mind was clear and his decisions still logical. Edgar trusted the lore-master's original assessment of the situation. Before the grandfather learned of his granddaughter's situation, he had been gravely worried about the Statues and what had happened to them after the Floating Continent crashed into the ocean.

It was a matter they could not afford to ignore for much longer.

Still, the fate of Relm, Terra and Locke was the most pressing issue on their minds. No matter what they said and thought, what they felt in their hearts could not be denied. They had sent Relm into a den of wolves and left her there.

"Alright, I will begin preparations to see if we can find secure lodging in Cartha and Tzen," Edgar said. "We will have to move swiftly once Setzer wakes and we are no longer in need of Kenneth's help."

"Very well," Cyan said as he stood. "I will help thy task this evening, but for now I wish to be alone."

Edgar nodded. "Of course Cyan."

As Cyan left their sight, Strago called out once more. "Cyan, I'm sorry again for what happened earlier."

Cyan's shoulders sagged visibly. The old knight turned around so that they could see his dark eyes. "I understand, Strago. I also understand the sacrifice you may have made this day."

Strago felt the weight of his decision bear down upon his shoulders. He stared at the floors blankly, forcefully holding back tears of frustration.

Edgar watched as Cyan left the house, knowing that the knight would be felling many a tree that day. He could only hope that the feeling of utmost impotence, the inability to protect a child when she needed them most, would pass. If it did not, Edgar did not know what Cyan might do.

The King of Figaro turned to Strago. His mind thought about the threats the elder mage had made in the grip of anger.

Edgar did not know what Strago might do either and of the two possibilities, that was the one that scared him the most.

---

Terra wondered where Locke was.

It was unlike him to be busy so often. Normally he would be pestering her. He was a constant burden and showered her with unwelcome attention. Since the week after the Messis Luna though, Locke had not sought her company. It was strange and something that was nagging her.

Terra strolled through the streets of Albrook with only one soldier watching over her. Norris had told her that it was for her protection, not to insure her cooperation. After the ordeal in Remiel's basement laboratory though, she took everything said with a grain of salt.

Norris was, as always, cheerful. Terra had not caught even a hint that Norris had known what transpired that night. It seemed that Remiel had managed to keep his beliefs secret, even from a Magitek Knight who served with him on a daily basis. Understandable, considering Norris was a wizard of great power. Terra would have been amazed at Remiel's ability to hide such venom, but she already knew he was an actor and manipulator of unparalleled skill.

Terra had not seen Remiel since the Messis Luna. The next day, in a sealed letter delivered by one of Norris' men, Remiel had eloquently told her to stay away from him. He would refuse her audience until she returned from the Core, and only then if she had redeemed herself in his eyes.

She would redeem herself. She had not felt such purpose, such conviction for a long time. While she had lain upon that cold stone floor, subject to such hatred and anger that she had never known existed, she had discovered much about herself. In a way, she was thankful to have met Remiel Lilienthal.

Terra wanted to help the people of the Empire. She could heal their minor wounds and protect them as the Civil War raged on. It was well within her capacity. She would not have to tap the nigh-limitless reserves of magical power within.

She would never do that again. It was unnecessary and too dangerous.

Maduin, her father, had been shattered. The crystallized remains of the Esper had been completely destroyed in her confrontation with Remiel Lilienthal. She had been unable to identify enough of the magicite to fill a thimble. Without her father's protection, the power within her would overwhelm and do terrible things. She still felt guilty at what she almost did when exposed to such seraphic energies. It had been so easy... with a single thought, Albrook would have been cleansed.

Terra Branford would never again surrender to such seduction. She vowed that she would never again yield to the siren's song.

"This is the place," Clarkson noted.

Terra stopped on the chilly street corner. The weather had continued its cold streak and not even the strength of the midday sun could warm the streets of Albrook. Usually quite busy, the city had become much quieter as the cold settled in.

She pulled her crimson scarf tighter, thankful for Lindsay's insistence upon selecting her wardrobe. The scarf was made of some fine silk she did not recognize, but it was incredibly soft and soothing to the touch. Her jacket was made of wolf's fur, light but easily capable of stopping those biting seaborne winds. It had a hood that covered everything but her face; her ears were delightfully warm. Lindsay and Claire had included numerous pairs of pants and shirts, more than Terra could ever afford. Her pack would be quite heavy when they left for the front lines.

Still, it was nice being warm for once. The clothes they had bought in Nestil were completely unsuited for the winter weather. Terra had spent too many nights rubbing her hands for warmth and shivering the whole time. A heavier pack was a small price to pay for comfort.

A thin silver necklace peeked from beneath the layers of silky fabrics and furs. The kind seamstress had given her the chain as a present. Now an emerald stone hung where Maduin had once been. The weight would serve as a reminder of what her father could no longer do. It was also her way of honoring his memory.

Terra looked around the corner impatiently. Clarkson was standing aside nonchalantly, watching nothing in particular but still noting everything that went on in the street. Terra did the same, though it was not particularly busy. A few children were playing ball down the sidewalk, their older brothers watching them with a careful eye, while a couple other men in fancy overcoats were just leaving a restaurant. Two soldiers were farther down the street, headed in their direction, and an old man was huddled in the opposite corner puffing rings of smoke from a pipe.

Where was he?

With a gloved hand, she pulled out a small pocket-watch that was attached to her waist by something Lindsay had called a chatelaine. It was a gold chain, much thinner than her necklace, which was adorned by a small purple ribbon. She looked at the time: half-past four.

Terra frowned. He was late.

She leaned against aged-stone walls, wondering what had gripped Locke's attention all of a sudden. It was not as if they had anything to do in Albrook, and certainly he had no friends or family here. The last time they were here, he had not disappeared at all. He had just moped around the inn where Celes and Leo had been staying.

"Hey."

Startled, Terra jumped slightly. One of the two soldiers walking by had stopped before them. He was looking at her, rather...

Wait, that grin was-

"Locke?" she asked incredulously.

No wonder he had surprised her. He was wearing heavy brown leather armor with an Imperial grey cloak draped over top. Like most of the Albrook soldiers, he had on a black fur hat with earflaps. His face was cleanly shaven and there was a cheerful grin on his face. Terra thought he looked sharper than ever before, it was almost as if there was a twinkle in his eye.

Behind Terra, Clarkson shifted his weight. The soldier had seen Locke well before he was in earshot of Terra, but had recognized the face instantly. Otherwise, he would have confronted the two men before they got so close. His job had been to protect Terra, not to just guard her.

"How do I look?" Locke spread his arms wide and showed off his widened frame. "The stuff weighs a ton, even more than what Farin gave us, but it's not too bad after the first couple hours."

On his back was a composite shortbow, its shape vaguely visible beneath his cloak. A couple throwing knives were strapped to his chest. Terra couldn't see a quiver. "What are you doing?" she asked. His sudden change was surprising, to say the least. Perhaps that had been what he was doing for the past couple days, training with a bow.

Locke gestured to his partner, the second soldier that had accompanied him and had been ignored until that very moment.

"Donnach!" Terra exclaimed.

"Good afternoon Miss Branford," Donnach adjusted the hat that covered his shaven head. His eyes wandered down her form. "That's some mighty nice finery. Did you just buy them here? Although then again, no one would wear such nice clothing if they were going to trek into the Wilds with chocobos..." Donnach trailed off as he examined her face. Something seemed to be on his mind.

"Yes," Terra gestured at her coat. "A kind lady wanted to help me prepare for the cold, I couldn't really say no."

Donnach grinned. "Very noble of her and noble-looking of you, though perhaps you might want to rethink some of it," he gestured at her crimson scarf. "Something like that would stand out amongst the boys on the front. But I'm sure Locke here will be more than capable of protecting you now that he's had my help." Donnach gave Locke a powerful slap on the back.

Locke didn't seem to notice the blow, unusual considering the strength Donnach put into it. "I've been training with Donnach," he explained. "I had decided that I could do better with an arrow than I can with my knives. Now that we're going into the thick of things, I'm glad I thought ahead."

Terra eyed Locke, unsure of what to make of the situation. "Well, I'm going to have trouble getting used to you in that armor. You look so..." she trailed off, not wanting to say the word Imperial in front of Donnach. She did not want to insult the men they had traveled to Albrook with. They were people like Leo, good men that had similar values as they had. They were not at all like Kefka.

Locke understood her hidden meaning though, and there was a moment of sadness and regret on his face. However, it was soon replaced by a cheerful disposition. He took her arm and suggested they return to their hotel. Farin had sent them an invitation for dinner and they should prepare.

---

Farin was finishing his second ale by the time Donnach, Locke and Terra arrived. Reinhardt was working on a plate of fried potatoes and watching the dancer on the stage. She was singing some old folk's tale, one that did not pique Farin's interest. He had heard the story a thousand times and it was no more interesting in melody than it was from the throat of an old man.

They were at one of the many restaurants in Albrook. It was not in the upper-district but was still a respectable establishment. Farin had been here once before. It had been back in the days when Leo had been a mere Captain. Those were happier times. Still, the place was full and there was enough of the well-to-do that Terra's fine clothing did not stand out terribly.

Farin ordered a round of drinks and greeted his guests. Donnach knocked Reinhardt out of his voyeuristic trance with a good smack to the head, stealing some of his food in the process. He turned his attention to the two civilians.

Locke and Terra had changed a great deal in the short time Farin had known them. When he had first seen the two, all he could remember were the tales that those two had assassinated Leo Christophe in Thamasa. He had never believed two mere Returners could have caught Leo unaware, and seeing how weak the two actually were had reassured him that it they were lies. It was similar to what had happened with Chere, only this time Palazzo had outright killed his competitor and spread propaganda about the Empire. And just as the situation after General Chere had been branded a traitor, Danielle had whispered to him the truth of what had happened in Thamasa. The thought of Palazzo boiled Farin's blood. The treacherous scum had gotten what was coming, but Farin wished it had been the justice of a blade.

Donnach had told him how good Locke was with a bow. With an eagle's eye and plenty of natural talent, the boy was further blessed with an archer's patience and would go far even if only a bit of Donnach's skills had rubbed off. He was also looking a lot more energetic. Had this been the man that he had first ambushed inside an herb store in Tzen, Farin might have struck first and dealt with injuries later. Farin was impressed with Locke Cole.

As for Terra, she was looking far stronger. Perhaps it was the clothing -- her stance was straighter and her bearing regal -- but there was something more that Farin had not seen before. Perhaps it was the look of determination and purpose.

As they ordered their meals, Farin briefly wondered what could have brought about the sudden change. Terra had seemed quite sad and withdrawn when he had first met her. After one single night as Remiel Lilienthal's date, she had changed into... this. No, it could not have been the dance that brought about such an evolution.

They ate happily, making small talk about cheerful matters. Farin set aside his careful analysis of the two Returners. He would tell Danielle, but Farin no longer judged either as an enemy. What they were going to do for the Empire was noble and just. They were of strong character and Farin would not let even Danielle's direct orders taint the night. There were things in life that could never be compromised.

Reinhardt and Donnach were acting in a reserved manner considering the amount of ale they had downed. Locke took part in their merry-making, though he avoided the alcohol. Terra had dyed her hair golden-blond again, though it was much longer than their journey through the Wilds. She was out of place; her demeanor and dress were a class above everyone else. Still, she had fun and somehow did not attract attention.

Farin was tired from a day's worth of reading and debating, sometimes those activities were just as strenuous as actually fighting on the battlefield. He did not speak what was really on his mind until they were nearly finished their meal. By that time, there was a band on stage with a group of dancers. The restaurant was now filled and the place was noisy and busy. It hid their conversation perfectly, as no one could overhear them. Still, Farin kept his voice reasonably low.

"About your journey to the front lines," Farin began. He held up a hand, seeing that Terra was about to defend herself. "I know... I'm not going to try to convince you otherwise. After our little chat two days past, I have reason to believe that you are made of sterner stuff than I ever imagined. I respect what you're trying to do, after all you have a powerful gift and to use it in such a manner is both brave and heroic."

Reinhardt and Donnach had both quieted down, seeing that the conversation had taken a serious turn.

"I have to warn you though; the Core is a complete catastrophe. It'll be a great ordeal to do what must be done," Farin continued. He looked at Terra with a sense of sadness. She was very young, close to the age his daughter would have been. "I hope you're prepared to see the worse, because I doubt eyes like yours have ever seen the horrors of this battlefield."

"I guess this is your way of saying you're concerned?" Terra asked with a hint of a smile.

Farin relaxed and nodded. "I have no command over you. My orders ended when I delivered you to Albrook. Although I would like to help you on the task ahead, I have a great many priorities and I cannot delay much more. What you're doing is a soldier's work, and you are no soldier."

"I'll be fine Farin," Terra replied. "I'm touched that you would be so concerned."

"Don't worry about them," Donnach said. "I taught this boy some of the tricks of the trade. He's a good shot now, and he'll protect her if he knows what's good for him." He had his hand around Locke, shaking him by the shoulder.

Locke scowled, and that turned to surprise when Donnach wrapped an arm around him.

"It looks like Donny-boy is done for the night," Reinhardt remarked. He swiped his friend's ale and grinned. "All the better."

Farin ignored his men and loosened the straps at his side. He removed a dagger from his belt, plain except for a small embroidered star on the leather sheath. The handle was decorated with a small yellow gemstone. "My best dagger," he said with great pride. "Handed to me from my grandfather, for my father skipped the call of a warrior. But it has been in our family for generations, my grandfather's father and his father before him." His brown eyes locked on Terra's green ones. "Take it. It will protect you when all else fails."

"I couldn't," Terra stared at the dagger. "It's a family heirloom."

Farin nodded. "That it is, and that is the reason why I want you to have it. You are still a child in my eyes, and the warrior in me refuses to allow a child on the battlefield. You will ride into danger while I ride to Tzen in safety. That is unacceptable. While I cannot be by your side and protect you, I will sleep better knowing you have that at your side."

Terra picked up the dagger and examined it.

"As well, not only shall it protect you but it will aide in helping end this war," Farin continued. "Saving lives is all that is important now, and I will do my best to see that this war ends," he referred vaguely to the treaty that was created during the past days.

Terra nodded. "Alright Farin, I'll take it. Thank you," she said as she held the dagger close to her chest.

Farin shook his head. "I thank you, for saving the lives of my countrymen and the innocents that I cannot personally save. But remember, you have a life to go back to someday. Don't throw it all away for nothing."

Terra swallowed away the lump in her throat.

The rest of the night passed by, marked only by further merry-making between Reinhardt, Donnach and a reluctant Locke. Terra enjoyed herself as well, and Farin paid the final bill. They stayed at the restaurant for a long while, Farin telling an enchanted Terra of Leo's past and their adventures together. After the stories of valor, Terra had explained to Farin how much she had wanted to learn from General Leo.

Though Terra was squeamish, Farin had her recount the General's last moments. In return, Farin answered all of Terra's questions about Leo. The two men had been extremely good friends and had only grown closer with each near-death experience on the battlefield. Considering the tales had been of their carefree youth, there was no shortage of narrow escapes and incredible deeds born of foolish decisions. But within those tales was the spirit of a man devoted to the ideals of the Empire, of protecting the weak, defending the innocent and making the world a safer place. They were the stories of a man who dedicated his life to acquiring the strength, both physical and mental, necessary to fight for justice and peace.

As the night wound down and the band stopped playing, Donnach and Reinhardt sobered up and it was decided that they would return to their respective hotels. Terra and Locke said their goodbyes to Farin, it would be the last time they could see him in Albrook before he returned to Tzen. He had told them a little of his plans. Farin wanted to stop the civil war as soon as they could. Too many lives were at stake for him to delay returning to Tzen and having Danielle sign the treaty. He was adamant and passionate about the alliance. Both factions combined would have the force to strike Vector quickly, possibly before the first snowfall, and instill a government that would clean up the Core and provide supplies for the thousands.

He was quite insistent that they strike before winter and he would not tolerate any further delays. He recounted the lack of food and proper shelter that the towns around Vector suffered from. Even the great cities of Sellenger and Mansfield were ill-prepared for the coming season. A cold winter storm would kill too many. He could not allow it.

Listening to Farin talk gave Terra hope for the future. She was still unsure of what she would be doing once they arrived at the front, but at least someone like Farin was working hard to end the civil war. She had seen the Esper strike on Vector and the aftermath of magic. It had been enough to make her sick, just recalling those memories.

And the more Farin talked, the more he reminded Terra of General Leo. Leo had been much the same way when he spoke of a treaty with the Espers and his desire for peace. They were both similar men, putting their lives on the line to protect the men and women of the Empire. Terra wished Farin was going to the front with them. In the short time she had known him, he had become a dear friend.

They bid each other good-bye on the chilly night streets of Albrook. The next day, Farin, Donnach and Reinhardt would make their journey back to Tzen. They would carry documents of the gravest importance: the specifics of an alliance to end the war.

Reinhardt had managed to find a gift for Terra. It was a small tin canteen filled with something that burned her nose when she smelt it. "Something to keep you warm in the winter months," Reinhardt said with a wink. "Donny provided the liquor," he added after his friend elbowed him in the ribs.

She gave both soldiers a quick hug.

Locke had tried to avoid the partings. Only to Donnach did he extend his hand, and the two men shook as a sign of mutual respect. However, Farin led him away by the arm and they conversed quietly. Terra could not hear what was said, but assumed they were words of advice.

When he turned to her, Terra gave Farin a heartfelt hug and whispered goodbye into his ear. Then she watched the three men leave. The knot in her stomach grew as they vanished into the dark city streets beyond the limits of her vision.

"Is something wrong, Terra?" Locke asked.

"Well," Terra hesitated. Her hand fell to her side, touching the knife that Farin had given her. It was reassuring, but not enough to ease the feelings of anxiety. "No, I guess not," she replied.

"What is it?" Locke put a hand on her shoulder, concerned.

Terra looked down at the ground. "A bad feeling," she said vaguely.

---

Sabin opened his eyes. His mediation was disturbed once again, but today would be different.

It had been over a week since they snuck into Halstead and met the kind tavern owner they called Bill. Although they certainly stayed in the desert town far longer than expected, their strategy had worked better than they could hope. For the past couple days, they had heard that the Imperial Garrison in Halstead had been undergoing a flurry of activity. Patrols were rare and the garrison command compound had constant Magitek preparation. Even halfway across the city, people could hear the sound of heavy machinery rumbling. Sabin attributed this to their presence and had planned an early escape.

Siana had, to his annoyance, proved him wrong.

Using her intimate knowledge of the Empire's army and their reporting mechanisms, she had managed to steal a stack of weekly reports. It had been a dangerous task, one that Sabin would have stopped if he had known. But she had tricked him, telling him that she was merely off to buy some groceries and instead returned with an armload of papers.

Sabin had trusted her for a moment and been rewarded with a reminder of Imperial deceit. He was reminded of how Cyan had seen Celes' actions as selfish and ultimately treacherous. Sabin decided he would keep a closer eye on Siana.

The papers were useful though. What they had read was disturbing: Halstead at the forefront of war. It was besieged in nearly every direction. From the reports, it was apparent that troops from the Marandan occupation had been harassing refugees from southeast; the direction of Vector and the rest of the Imperial Core. The garrison commander had apparently a conscience but little intelligence, for he had sent a large portion of his command to secure those routes.

Those soldiers now laid dead in a chasm somewhere.

With a great deal of his forces dead and the embarrassment of both his failure to save the refugees and his upcoming failure to protect Halstead, the commander had ended up pleading for help. While he was awaiting relief, he began extreme measures to improve the integrity of his remaining Magitek Armors and took over what little industry there was in Halstead. A few days later, salvation arrived in the form of Captain Godric Waldgrave, his Magitek Company and supporting infantry.

That was yesterday. It was fortunate that they met Heller the same day, or else escape would have been twice as dangerous. Heller was one of the few chocobo drivers that did not instantly seem like trouble. He was an older man that was ferrying supplies back and forth from Halstead to some of the starving villages in the outskirts of the Core. He had been doing it for the money. The times were hard and the roads were treacherous to travel. Bill had heard some rumors that Heller had been delivering goods without fearing the Marandan forces. If they wanted to go to Maranda, then such a fearless driver and his team of chocobos might be the best bet, Bill had reckoned.

Bill was right, but Heller was a hassle to convince. He had been weary of Sabin's request for passage to Maranda. No one went to Maranda, no matter how much had changed in the two years since the Kingdom had fallen and an Imperial province created in its place. It was utter foolishness in the current state of the Empire. Everyone knew about the fields of dead on the Plains of Callaghan and Incledon. Sabin's excuses had fallen upon deaf ears. Nothing could convince Heller that heading headfirst into danger was a good idea.

Nothing except fistfuls of gil, that is.

Heller could have been a good man at one point, Sabin thought. The man seemed kind and willing to help them, it was just that the fear of death was a difficult thing to overcome. Greed was the only emotion Sabin could appeal to. There was no sense of responsibility with men like him. They came and went at the drop of a dime, following the scent of money and only tempered by the speed of their chocobo teams. The Empire brought out the worst in people.

Heller had demanded a hefty rate though, once he realized Sabin was both rich and desperate. Even though it was not his money, Sabin had been less than willing to pay the amount requested. He could have bought twice as many chocobos for the amount and still have enough to hire another driver to take them back to Tzen.

After further questioning though, Sabin had discovered what made Heller such a fearless man.

A medallion, given by the Emperor himself, assured him of unlimited travel within the Empire free of nuisances like the army. It was a rare award that everyone recognized when they saw it, but made rarer since only nobles had such treasures. Sabin expected to hear the story of how a lowly chocobo driver managed to obtain such prestige.

But now was not the time to think of such silly matters. The sound of doors being broken by force was ever closer.

Sabin stood up and glanced about their room one last time. His heart ached at leaving the little place. It felt like his cabin, cozy and secure, far back in the outskirts of South Figaro. He would miss this place more though. His lips curled up in a smile as he remembered how surprised she had been when he slept on the hard wooden floor and given her the bed. Imperials, they were simply unused to kindness. He looked down at the spot where he had fallen asleep, remembering how he had woken up in the middle of the night to find her on the floor as well, unwilling to accept his gift. What a stubborn gi-

A brute nearly the size of Sabin smashed the door with his foot, breaking it in two. He entered with much bravado, not noticing Sabin's form against the walls until it was far too late.

Sabin's fist lifted the man off the ground and through the doorframe. Screams of surprise were heard as the men outside watched their comrade explode through the walls of the tavern. Without a second thought, Sabin charged into the hallway and launched himself at the surprised men.

---

Siana quickly slipped into the tavern by the backdoor. She ran up the stairs and hopped over the prone body of what looked to be a soldier. The man was unconscious, his nose broken and fresh blood seeping down his puffy cheeks. Her knife made sure the man would never get up again.

She drew a second knife from the hidden sheath in her boot, just in case. Siana quietly snuck up the remaining flight of steps and turned the corner.

The breath was ripped from her lungs as a powerful hand grabbed her by the collar. She was pulled into a room and straight into the arms of the most menacing blond-haired warrior within a week's march.

Sabin, obviously.

She cursed herself for how easily he had gained the advantage. She was getting sloppy.

"You're late. I thought we said quarter to six," Sabin accused her. "Did you do something to the Imperial garrison again?"

Siana averted her eyes. "Listen, we better hurry up and find Heller. He said he would be waiting in the stables."

Sabin glared at her. "What did you do at their base?" he asked.

"I delayed them and bought us some time," she replied as she checked the hallway, looking for more soldiers. Her eyes paused as she took a good look at the men that Sabin had knocked-out. They did not look like typical plainclothes patrols, she thought. She had guessed wrong, they were probably mercenaries hired by the garrison and had decided, in grave folly, that the five of them were more than enough to take care of their underhanded business.

Siana briefly debated whether killing them to ensure their silence was worth a week of antagonizing moral superiority from the rebel. It was an easy decision. She sheathed her clean knives within hidden pockets and led the way out.

They slipped out the backdoor of the tavern. Sabin had alerted Bill of what would happen that day and that Imperial soldiers would eventually come barging into his tavern. Bill had been kind and honest. He had wanted to help hide them for much longer and said that it would be impossible for Imperials to find them while he was on the job. But Sabin had not wanted to hide. He had wanted Godric to follow them and they had succeeded beyond expectations. Now it was time to leave Halstead before it become too difficult to attempt to escape. Sabin suggested that Bill help them and clear his name at the same time by alerting the Imperials of their location.

Bill had initially refused, but after Sabin told him that it was the only way to avoid bloodshed, the tavern-owner had grudgingly accepted. He had closed his bar and the rest of his establishment for the day, sent the usual rowdy crowds home and only left the inn open. Then he went to Captain Godric Waldgrave with news that a red-haired woman and a muscular blond haired man with a funny accent had shown up at his bar asking for a place to stay. Being an Imperial citizen, they seemed strange and the army would probably appreciate knowing about those two. They might have been spies or worse, Bill told Godric.

Godric had only the last hour to prepare, and Siana predicted Godric would not move prematurely. He would gather more than enough force and storm the inn on his own time. The men that had attacked Sabin had not been sent by Godric, that was for sure.

He had not known about the backdoor entrance, though the Imperial pilot had tried to encircle the tavern subtly to make sure Sabin and Siana did not escape. With both the backdoor and the large crowds, they had slipped through Godric's grasp with ease.

The stable was on the far side of town and it was a long walk. Hidden beneath hooded cloaks, they walked through the darkening streets of Halstead at a hurried but calm pace. They did not want to attract attention at the moment. Though it had been their plan in the past, there was too much at stake to continue pressing their luck. Their trail would end in Halstead.

Heller was waiting for them exactly as he said he would. His team of chocobos, four strong-looking birds that were cleaned of the desert dust, awaited them patiently while their driver was busy adjusting the ropes to the carriage. Sabin and Siana caught him by surprise as he was concentrated on his work. The mustached man gave them a wide-grin, these two had made him fabulously wealthy after all, and pointed at the open door in his carriage.

"Take a seat, both of you. We'll be riding across the desert and leaving everyone else in a trail of dust before the sun fully sets," the dark haired man said with a grin.

---

"What exactly did you do, Siana?" Sabin asked suspiciously. Their carriage shook as it began to leave the stables. They were comfortably seated in a small compartment, the windows darkened against prying eyes and walls reinforced to prevent sound from escaping. Only the wealthy traveled this way, and Sabin had not known Heller owned such a vehicle. When he had approached the driver, the man had just finished hauling a huge load of raw metals for the Imperials. He did not expect such luxury and privacy. Sabin felt better though, the soldiers would never catch them if they couldn't see them.

"I slipped into their base and dealt with the biggest threat," Siana replied. She looked outside, watching citizens of the Empire part in order to make way for the accelerating chocobo-drawn carriage. From the window, the people on the street did seem a bit like ants. It was no wonder the wealthy always looked down on everyone else, if this was the way they saw people.

No wonder her mother was always speaking ill of her choice to serve in the military. This was how she saw the people Siana had protected for many years, as nothing more than wretched beggars with no future.

"You took care of their Magitek? How did you manage that?" Sabin found the idea intriguing, that Siana could single-handedly stop an Imperial pursuit.

Siana looked up at him. "We're in the desert," she rolled her eyes as if he had just asked an incredibly stupid question.

"And that means what? I've seen those ATA's of yours in Figaro Desert. They didn't break down from heat or anything else," Sabin hadn't actually seen Magitek in the desert, but Edgar had told him of the escape from Kefka's attack on the castle. It was the same thing in his mind.

"They'll have the same problem in the long run," Siana replied without missing a beat. She continued staring outside and watched as they passed the citizens of Halstead.

"Which is?" Sabin was getting annoyed at her evasiveness.

"Sand filters," she replied. "It's not routine to check the filters, even though it's a quick thing to fix, because they normally clean out the dirt when the Magitek Armors are dismounted. Pilots don't have time to let maintenance crews do thorough checks before they jump into battle. I'll bet a year's pay that Godric won't think twice before jumping into his Armor."

"What exactly do these sand filters do?" Sabin asked. "And don't tell me they filter sand, I can guess that much."

Siana sighed. "Magitek gets slowed down by the desert sands. The tiny grains get into the gears and cause havoc with the mechanics," Siana brushed back her red hair, done up in a ponytail at the moment. "That's why Magitek is rarely used in extended desert combat. It slows the machine down and often causes failure at the worst possible time. It's the same thing with crossing rivers, although that's a bit different because of the depth or speed of the waters."

Sabin rubbed his chin. "It seems like Godric would be the type to check such little things," he said. "He's obsessed with Magitek Armor, isn't he?"

"He's stubborn and devoted, but he wouldn't bother with such minor details," Siana replied. "He might notice the difference if he was piloting his frontliner... though probably not early enough for it to make a difference. But we don't even have to worry about that. He won't give chase in anything but a fourth-gen."

"Let's hope you're right," Sabin mumbled to himself.

That caught her attention, Siana turned from watching the outside world pass by serenely and glared at him. "I doubt we could survive if we get caught by a squadron of Armors. You're lucky I risked my life to do something like that," she snapped.

"That's where Heller comes in," Sabin refuted immediately.

Siana rolled her eyes. "He's just a chocobo driver. What's he going to do against Armors intent on blasting the carriage apart? Wave a medallion from five hundred paces away as beams of fire rain down on us?"

Sabin shrugged. "I would think they want us alive," he said.

Siana laughed darkly. "I'm not so certain of that."

Sabin had nothing to say in response. She was right. It was the Empire that was chasing them.

The carriage left Halstead without much issue, only stopping once to speak with the guards at the edge of the city. It had seemed like their pricey ruse had worked, none of the guards questioned Heller and his miraculous medallion.

They were headed to the conquered province of Maranda. The plan was to find a small secluded area by Pierpoint and hide for the duration of winter. Edgar had contacts in that city and they could eventually reach his brother once it was safe. For now, it was too risky to stay in Tzen where Godric could catch them. The Core of the Empire was also not an option, too much warfare, while Albrook was simply too far away.

Sabin wondered what Maranda would be like. Few journeyed between Maranda and the rest of the Empire. Rumors told of a great Magitek battle on the Plains of Incledon, and now soldiers patrolled those areas with such dedication that no one could pass. They would not be journeying in that direction, for the Plains of Incledon sloped south towards the lands where the Kingdom of Maranda had once been. That area was still in ruins from the recent war and was heavily militarized. The occupation had apparently rebuilt the crown city of Maranda and its sister city on the coast, Sutton, thanks to the skills of a generous Governor. But no matter what the Empire did, rumors were rift of the bloodthirsty conquistador named Maverick Drummond. Sabin saw no reason to believe the Empire had instilled anything else but a ruthless dictator.

He suddenly recalled the heat of the fireplace inside the Elder's house, back in Narshe. The chill of winter flooded into the room, taking with it the comfortable warmth. Locke had just entered the doorway with a blond-haired teenage girl in tow.

"This's General Celes! She torched Maranda! She's an Imperial spy! Now, stand aside!" Cyan shouted dangerously as he charged past Gau with his sword drawn.

No, Sabin remembered Celes' silence. The Imperial occupation had not been kind at all. And she had been the best of the Empire. She had recognized the evil that the Empire represented and had the integrity -- the morality -- to fight it. Celes Chere, the woman who torched Maranda, was the best the Empire had.

His eyes drifted over to the red-haired ex-pilot.

The best the Empire had.  



	9. Presage

**The Ninth Chapter - Presage**

Rian was a heavily fortified city that acted as the forefront of war for Lilienthal's faction. It secured supply lines and its position in the mountains made it influential over the entire province. Several thousand soldiers worked tirelessly for the past three months and had grown quite skilled at their job of guarding the new border. Well before the sun had set beyond the Strachan mountains, the commanders of Rian knew about them. After all, they were a contingent of nearly two-thousand men on chocobos riding to the front. It had been impossible to miss. Even sentries that had been asleep in their positions would have been woken by the trembling ground as the heavy cavalry, carrying their own weight in plated armor, thundered past.

Locke and Terra rode with Colonel Norris Ferdinand and his personal guard, a group of fifty men that reminded Locke of Donnach and Reinhardt. They were not typical Imperial soldiers, and their attitudes and belongings showed as much. Terra could feel no less than five Magitek Knights amongst the group. These fifty men were disciplined, battle-hardened veterans that had fought many battles against the monsters that still roamed both land and sea, brought civilization to the barbaric tribes in the fringes of the southern continent, and now fought a pretender to the Imperial throne. They had an aura about them that was frightening to behold.

Rian was not their destination. The city would be the initial target of any incursion into Lilienthal's holdings and though it was heavily fortified, it was not where central command would be. Norris spoke shortly with the garrison commander and returned with instructions to find the main force, along with the color codes of flags so that they could locate the command tents quickly.

As they set off from Rian, Locke came to an interesting realization. He had noticed it earlier, but attributed the problem due to the nature of Wilds. Farin had explained to them those areas had been hardly contested, and so it made sense that the lands had not shown the same battle scarring that the southern areas of Tzen showed. But even as they neared the front lines, the lands of Albrook were still pristine and untouched. The Vais Gumes reflected the soft moonlight, a soft yellow glow that swayed in symphony with the cold winter winds. Those grassy stalks still stood tall and proud, telling Locke that there had never been a battle here, only the movement of many a soldier through well-trodden paths.

He wondered why there was such a difference. When they had traveled with Farin, the lands were broken and charred. The scars of war had been everywhere and refugees were all about. Towns were rampaged and sacked, most deserted as the villagers left for the safer cities in the north. Yet in Albrook, the horrors of war had not affected the people that lived there.

That question was answered when they arrived at the front.

A bit after nightfall, they reached the entrenched lines that marked the edge of safe territory and the beginning of a neutral zone. Yet despite the great numbers that made up the central concentration of Lilienthal's military might, they did not see the camp until they were well within the range of archers.

Norris seemed to be oblivious to the dozens of soldiers they passed, their bows ready and arrows nocked, and spurred his chocobo nonchalantly. They followed his lead without question, fifty elite soldiers and two out-of-place civilians, as he rode down a path that curved softly towards the center of the encampment. Behind them, Locke noted that the remaining two-thousand riders had stayed at the fringes of the camp.

Men parted aside so that Norris could ride through, most dropping what they had been doing and rushing out of the way without fail. They passed dozens upon dozens on the road alone, so many that Locke quickly lost count. Thousands were working to secure their lands from the attacking hoards of the Core. They were the reason why Albrook was so well protected.

At last, they came to a halt before five figures.

"Norris you old fool," the figure in the lead growled as Norris galloped to a stop. Locke and Terra followed suit, coming to a halt just behind Norris and two other soldiers.

Norris dismounted carefully, but no one else was following. Locke gave Terra a sidelong glance and she shook her head in silent agreement. It didn't seem right for them to follow Norris.

"Moving with that kind of force without a proper scouting curtain is the apex of idiocy," the woman continued to growl. She was taller than Norris was, but in the sparse moonlight, it was difficult to make out any features. The entire camp was cloaked in darkness. They had seen hardly any fires burning, despite the chilly weather.

"I'm happy to see you too Karen," Norris pulled off his hood and took a deep breath of the crisp night air. "Your sentries were almost impossible to avoid," he said with a teasing tone.

Locke wondered what Norris meant by that.

The woman, Karen, crossed her arms. "You've brought trouble, Ferdinand," she said.

Norris turned around and directed his gaze at Terra and Locke. His wizened face was full of vigor but creased with lines as he thought deeply. "Perhaps you have a point, Alysworth, but I have also brought a great deal of help for your men," he replied with his back still turned. In a louder voice, he addressed his men. "Sanderson, Gibbons," he ordered. After waiting for the two men to snap to attention, he continued. "Take your men back to Carr," he turned around to Karen. "Who will coordinate?" he asked.

Karen gestured at one of the figures behind her. "Captain Tarrish and his aides will be in charge of that," she replied.

Norris resumed his orders, his men spurring their chocobos into action after three of the figures behind Karen had been assigned. It was not until after the soldiers had left that Norris addressed Locke and Terra. "You two should dismount and come with us. Karen?"

"My tent is this way, follow me."

---

Karen's tent was lit by nothing more than a single small candle, but it was somehow comfortably warm. Her aide departed while Norris directed Locke and Terra to take the two seats in front of Karen's desk.

Karen lit three more small candles before sitting down herself. In the light, they could see that she had shoulder-length brown hair. It was probably that length due to the months of war rather than a personal decision. Her energetic black eyes studied both Locke and Terra with an uncomfortable penetrating gaze, but beneath were ugly dark circles and wrinkles unbefitting of her age.

"Major-General Karen Alysworth," Norris gestured. Terra noted the two stars prominent on Karen's leather armor. She was an older woman, elder than Farin though still youthful in comparison to Norris. While an aura of authority radiated from the woman, it was not due to any spellform. Terra could sense no magic in her. Karen Alysworth was a born leader, one both knowledgeable and battle-hardened.

"Second only to General Lilienthal, she is our field commander and in charge of all our military operations." Norris stayed standing, his long grey hair swaying from side to side as he grinned mischievously.

Terra pulled off her wolf-fur hood, her blond-dyed hair falling out as she did so. Locke pulled off his hood as well, thankful to have it off. The thin Imperial cloaks were deceivingly warm.

Karen studied Terra and Locke, her gaze bouncing between the two. "Familiar, but not familiar enough for me to remember their faces off-hand."

"Terra Branford and Locke Cole," Norris introduced them with dramatic hand motions.

Locke was unsure whether he should speak. It was an awkward situation and he could see that Terra felt the same.

Karen's brow wrinkled. "The Esper?" she asked after some thought. "Yes of course," she answered her own question. "I've seen you before, at Emperor Gestahl's side. You had green hair back then, and you looked a bit younger. As for the Returner," Karen turned her gaze to Locke. "You caused one of my subordinates no small amount of grief with your antics in Sellenger a couple years past. It's nice to finally meet you."

Locke blinked blankly. He had done quite a bit for the Returners, but he could not seem to remember a trip to Sellenger. Even if he could remember, he did not think he was even remotely well known enough for a Major-General to take note of his name.

"Confused? Normally I would never take notice of such trivial matters, but in that case I had. We had some trouble keeping tabs on you-"

He remembered what he had done in Sellenger now! But how could someone so highly ranked in the army have known what he had done?

"-at the time, and though all signs pointed to incompetence I always suspected something else." Karen turned to the old mage. "Norris, do explain yourself. I have not been notified of such interesting guests arriving under my command."

Norris grinned. "We've been given direct orders from General Lilienthal," his hands reached inside his robes and took out a sealed brown envelope. "Your orders are here in formal writing." He slid the envelope across Karen's makeshift desk. "I took the liberty of delivering it myself. I thought it might be a good time to drop by and see how you were doing."

Karen did not reach out for the envelope though, her arms remained crossed beneath her breasts and her eyes glaring at Norris with displeasure.

Norris sighed. "Alright, I'm sorry for scanning you without your permission," he grumbled.

Locke raised an eyebrow. He felt out of place, as if he was intruding on a much more private conversation than he should be privy to. Terra seemed to feel the same way. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

Karen shrugged but it was obvious that some manner of tension had faded away. "Explain the orders," she replied.

Locke suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder. Norris had placed himself between Locke and Terra. His tone and expression became serious. "We've been ordered to engage the Western enemy until relieved, or we take Maley's Point and the Grand Peaks."

As Locke shifted in his seat again, Norris finally took note of the uncomfortable situation. "You two don't have to worry. You've been cleared for everything that I'll be discussing tonight," he said.

It did not relieve either Returner, but Karen looked surprised. The expression was fleeting though, and Locke was left unsure whether it was a trick of the light. "Well, that would be two surprising developments," the senior Imperial officer offered with a calm disposition. "The first would be two civilians -- historically aiding our enemies if not taking arms up against us directly -- being privy to a discussion between two senior field officers. The next being the sudden change in our defensive plans. It is the beginning of winter, though it comes early this year, and I would advise our General against any serious engagements at this time."

Norris removed his hands from Locke and Terra's shoulders. "These two will accompany me into Caleigh's territory and take care of the so-called New Order. There are some threats that must be dealt with, and the General has ordered me to eliminate them. Your orders are rather simple, and you should be able to achieve them without much resistance. I am correct with my assumption, right?"

Karen leaned back in her chair and unfolded her arms, but she did not look anymore relaxed. "Caleigh is a man with spirit. He does not falter nor will he balk at sacrifice, especially when the roads to Vector are being contested. General Lilienthal is asking too much, the winter will be harsh and our enemy has had much time to fortify their positions."

"That's not exactly what I expected to hear from you, Karen," Norris noted. "It doesn't reflect my opinion, or the more important opinion of our General."

Major-General Karen Alysworth blinked away deep wrinkles underneath her eyes. She took a sip from a canteen on her desk before addressing Norris. "You're telling me that a political fogey and his pet black-hat have views differing from my own, and that I should bend to the will of the incompetent?"

The tension in the air thickened and Locke shifted in his seat again. Karen was staring daggers at Norris. There was such malice behind that gaze that Locke felt extremely uneasy, even though he was not the target.

"Karen," Norris growled. "That's not what I meant."

"Then next time, think before you speak. The lives of my men mean more than any of Lilienthal's wants," Karen folded her arms. "You can tell him I said that if you so desire."

"Duly noted, and had I any political ambitions I might even take you up on that offer," Norris replied off-hand. He sighed deeply. "You'll never get that third star if you keep speaking your mind like this, Karen."

"Just tell me why he wants Maley's Point," Karen ignored Norris' remarks. "The only reason why we no longer hold the Grand Peaks is because the General retreated much farther back than necessary. Attacking now would require the bulk of our forces and places us in an aggressive position that does nothing but provoke Caleigh and his armies. We can't force a decisive result, I wouldn't think we'd be even capable of putting a Tek Missile into the walls of Vector, had we any of those left," Karen pointed at a detailed map of the region between Vector and Albrook. "While Caleigh may have overextended here," her finger pointed to a pattern of red pins near the westernmost Strachan Mountains. They formed a haphazard grid that seemed to serve no purpose, but just above it was a solid wall of crimson dots. "The Brougham Line is more than capable of holding us back for months... perhaps even indefinitely," her voice lowered with the last word.

Locke watched curiously as Norris' eyes shifted from Karen to Terra, and then back again. What was going on here?

"Karen, you should know that attacking the Grand Peaks was not General Lilienthal's idea. It was a concession that we agreed to."

This time, Karen's surprised expression was clear on her face. "You leave this army for a month and you come back with a treaty?" she said incredulously. "How?"

Norris gestured at Terra. "Miss Branford here has managed to change Lilienthal's mind. I personally discussed the terms with Brigadier Starson."

Karen turned to the half-Esper. "You convinced the General to make peace with Danielle?"

Terra shrugged. "It didn't exactly happen that way," she answered slowly. Terra was unsure of how to explain the situation. It was rather incredulous that in order for an alliance to be considered, Remiel had requested an audience with her. Even that description was stretching the truth... but she could not tell the Imperial soldiers that Remiel had intended to kill her because of his contempt for magic.

"Danielle," Norris echoed the name distastefully and unwittingly saved Terra from saying too much. "Karen, what did I just say about your odds for a third star?"

Karen rolled her eyes. "Enough of the games, old man. I grow tired of them."

"Sure," Norris gave his friendliest grin. "So will I be riding back to relay your observations and advice to our General? Or will you strike Maley's Point and keep our end of the bargain, so that General Meras and her armies will ride south into the Gap of Reddenhurst?"

The Major-General sighed. She gazed over the maps again. "Even without the reserves, I can easily mobilize about fifty-thousand men," she said with a bit of thought. "That should be more than enough to advance into the Core," she grumbled. Her eyes scanned the maps of the Kavanagh Mountains pinned up against the sides her personal tent. "With General Meras taking the Gap, that would divert reinforcements from Mansfield..."

"How long will it take you?" Norris interrupted Karen's train of thought.

"Four days," Karen said crisply and without hesitation. Plans were already forming within her mind. "Five without your two-thousand chocobos. Three with the Knights of Odin."

Norris gestured extravagantly towards the entrance of the camp. "Carr and all his men are at your comma-"

"Norris," Karen interrupted. "The Tenth Division guards Maley's Point," she said quietly.

Colonel Norris Ferdinand breathed in sharply. The old soldier's eyes drifted down to the ground. Terra and Locke exchanged a look of concern; they had never seen him act like this.

"I'm sorry, but I thought you should know," Karen said with as much compassion as a pragmatic general could.

"Terry is a good man," Norris replied. "It is... unfortunate that he is so stubborn." He took a deep breath and then met Karen's gaze without emotion. "I require only ten of my finest to accompany me into Fanshaw. I will need supplies and all the information on the city and the Strachan Mountains that your scouts have collected."

Karen whistled. "Very well, Colonel. I must ask, must you go that deep into the New Order?"

Norris nodded. "We depart tomorrow. When next we meet, I'll expect it to be at Maley's Point."

Karen returned the nod. "Of course. Be careful, old man."

Colonel Norris Ferdinand saluted, his fist audibly thumping against his chest. He left without another word.

---

They followed Norris around the camp, the old mage leading them as though he had the map of the area burned into his head. While they followed, Locke walked beside him. His curiosity had won over his sense of caution. "Norris," he started. "Mind if I ask something?"

"Go ahead," Norris said as he looked up at one of the tents. It was flying a triangular red flag.

"I was just wondering why you included us in that conversation. We weren't really required there, and didn't we hear far more than we should?" Locke asked.

Norris kept looking at the flags flying on top of the tents. "I shouldn't have said no for an aide," he grumbled under his breath. Turning to Locke, he perked up and gave him a slap on the back. "Stop worrying so much," he said. "The information will do you no good even if you get it to Caleigh himself, he's completely outmatched. The New Order has little chance against General Alysworth and her strategic genius. Her tactical abilities also outstrip anything that Caleigh has in his ranks. Even if you betray us, you'll them offer nothing."

Locke frowned. "I didn't mean it like that," he asserted.

Norris seemed to find what he was looking for and started towards his new target. Locke followed, Terra behind him looking around the army camp with interest.

"I meant it just seemed weird to listen to you give orders and have no idea what you were talking about," Locke said. He left unsaid how strange Norris and Karen acted together and skirted away from Norris' friend on the other side of the war.

Norris shrugged. "What, you've never heard of the Knights of Odin?"

Locke shook his head. "No, nor this New Order. What is it?"

Norris stopped in his tracks, surprising Locke. The old man spun around on one foot, stamping the other down when he faced Locke. "That's strange. You don't know what the New Order is? What about you Terra?"

Terra glanced up, caught by surprise. She had not been following the conversation and gave Norris a blank look.

"I guess not," Norris answered his own question. "Well, the New Order is the abomination that Anson Tilton has set up in the capital and the Core. He claimed that he was the Emperor or something and expected us to follow Hector Caleigh's steps, as if we were all as gullible as that man. Tilton has attempted to reform the laws of the land and has passed ludicrous decrees, such as the banning of a soldier's right to lay claim to his enemy's belongings, and even tried to abolish the noble houses," Norris said. He spread his hands out. "The man's stupidity is great, as the noble houses are both wealthy and influential. Without their support, basic needs like grain began to run short in the Core," Norris shook his head sadly. "Tilton has to be removed from power as soon as possible, and with him, the foolish New Order he has built."

Locke had never heard anything like this. Danielle had told them quite a bit about the events in the Core, but she had not even mentioned the New Order. He vaguely recalled the name of Anson Tilton though, and Hector Caleigh's name seemed familiar as well.

"I'm surprised that you would help General Meras yet be in the dark as to what has happened in the recent weeks," Norris said. "There's no reason for you to not know the terrifying rule that Tilton has submerged the Core into."

Locke noticed the look on Terra's face. She was surprised that Norris did not know Danielle was threatening them into cooperating, using Relm's life as a bargaining chip in her ploys. Locke was not surprised though. He had remembered the Remiel did not know about their deal with Danielle. If Norris' superior did not know, Norris would not either.

"You never mentioned it," Locke pointed out. "Neither did Remiel."

Norris laughed. "It's rare for stubborn men like us to give Tilton enough respect to actually address his rule as the New Order," he stated. "Certainly Lilienthal does not recognize Tilton's authority any further than as an insurgent within the capital. As for myself, I follow the General..." Norris trailed off. "You will understand soon enough when we journey through the southern sections of the Core. The trip to Fanshaw will not be easy and you will see much that results from Tilton's rule. It shall be quite treacherous when we enter the more populated regions, being very few against many thousands. You two will do exactly as I say, or else we will all be dead."

"What is Fanshaw?" Terra asked, interested now that Norris was speaking of their future.

"Fanshaw is a major city south of the Capital. Unlike the other major cities, we can reach it through the Strachan Mountains and so we bypass the great defensive line that Caleigh has set against our forces."

"What would we be doing there?" Locke asked.

Norris grinned. "I will tell you when the time is right. There is no need for you to worry needlessly so soon."

"That doesn't sound promising," Locke grumbled.

"We will be probably helping a rebellion, getting supplies to people in need there," Terra whispered to Locke.

Locke gave her a questioning glance. "How do you know that?" he whispered back.

"You two can stop your childish buzzing behind my back," Norris grinned and pointed triumphantly. There was the glow of firelight coming from the direction he gestured; it was their campsite. "Tomorrow will be an early start. If we sit here and chat about all that you don't know, then the war will be over and you'll still be talking. Let's go get some sleep."

---

Sabin took a deep breath of the night air. It had been three days since they left Halstead, crossing the desert north of the Callaghan Plains and within about two days of Pierpoint. Luck was on their side. The Magitek squadrons at Halstead never did give chase. Either they never recognized Heller's departure -- in which case the medallion was worth its weight in gold -- or Siana's sabotage had worked perfectly as planned. Either way, they had escaped without any trouble and were now happily at the edge of the Province of Maranda.

Maranda, a victim of Imperial expansionistic tendencies two years past. It was the latest province to be added to the Empire. The northern tip of the land seemed unaffected by the change of leadership though, serene and untouched by the ravages of war.

Sabin stood on atop a hill in the midst of a field of green stalks and white flowers, mountains in the distance basked in the warm glow of the setting sun. It brought a pang of nostalgia to his heart, his gaze drifting north where his home was. He had not seen Figaro for far too long, or the Kolt Mountains he had called home for the last decade. With the Emperor dead and the Imperials busy killing each other, he wondered why he was halfway around the world in a land he held no love for.

His ear twitched as Siana made her way up the grassy slope. Her red hair was pulled back and glistened with moisture; it was freshly washed in the nearby stream. She was wearing clean clothing as well, picked up in Halstead and more suited for the colder weather. Sabin was reminded that he had not bathed since leaving Bill's.

The two measured each other with cold eyes, Returner and Imperial clashing yet again. In the past days, Sabin had not even attempted to make small talk with the ex-pilot and Siana had gotten the hint. She reflected his indifference and then some.

"Heller and I finished setting up camp," Siana said with an air of professionalism. "I take it that you have finished scouting the area?"

Heartless and callous, the woman might be, but she recognized skill regardless of personal opinion. Siana had deferred to his advice on more than one occasion when choosing campsites. At least she had one redeeming quality. Sabin had always felt himself more attuned to the wilds than others and a decade spent under the tutelage of Duncan -- his martial arts master -- in the Kolt Mountains had made him an expert ranger.

"Fresh water and some blueberries, a late-season blossom but still fresh. We're rather well hidden and there almost no chance anyone from the road will see us as long as we don't make a fire. It'll do for the night," Sabin concluded with an equally professional tone.

Siana swiftly nodded and started back down the hill.

"Wait," Sabin held up a hand. The red-haired Imperial turned back towards him, her face failing to hide her displeasure. He had broken their unspoken agreement not to speak with each other unless it was absolutely necessary.

"What is it?"

"I was wondering if you had finished reading through the briefs on this province."

That caught her off-guard. "How did you know about that?" Siana asked with surprise all over her face.

Sabin straightened. "Even if I didn't notice the way you held back detail about your trip to sabotage Magitek Armor, I saw the papers lying in your pack. You can fool me once with your ease of lifting Imperial documentation, but not twice."

Siana frowned. "Well I didn't think you would be interested in the material," she defended.

"I've never been to Maranda, or lived under the yoke of the Empire," Sabin sat down in the grasses. "While depending on each other's expertise has worked so far, I would like to know more about the place we're about to call home for the winter months."

"What's there to know about? It's a province of the Empire and military presence in Pierpoint is non-existent. The reports confirmed what I told you: that this area of the continent is a perfect place to hide until Godric gives up," Siana answered confidently.

"No troops at all? Not even conscripts?" Sabin pursed his lips together. He remembered clearly that there had been Imperial soldiers from Maranda under General Leo's command. There was also the injured fellow in Mobliz, the one he and Cyan had tried to help.

"The Imperial Army never conscripted anyone," Siana snapped quickly.

"I saw soldiers from Maranda participate in the Doma War," Sabin pointed out in a calm tone. He wanted to avoid an intense argument if it was possible.

"They joined willingly, just like anyone else in the army. There's no more difference between a soldier from Maranda and a pilot from Albrook," Siana pointed at herself.

"I find that rather hard to believe, considering how the Empire just conquered the Kingdom," Sabin grumbled.

"Maybe if you were a little less ignorant, you would know how the people there have turned around in the years that have passed. A popular Governor rules there now, he's rebuilt Maranda and Sutton with money out of his own pocket. Now the province has two of the most beautiful cities in the world."

"Out of his own pocket?" Sabin echoed, not at all convinced of the alleged benign dictator that the Emperor had propped up.

"That's not all he did. He had most of his officers in the army stay in the province. They built new roads and railroad tracks, giant farms, businesses, factories... everything. Trade flourished and put many of the Marandans to work. We brought civilization to a backwater Kingdom. Everyone's better off now," Siana proudly explained the work of her peers.

"I suppose he even boasts that he made the trains run on time?" Sabin quipped.

Siana rolled her eyes. "At least we have trains, unlike some desert... places."

Sabin bit off a nasty retort, instead choosing to keep quiet his distaste for the Empire. His patience for the Imperial exhausted for the evening, he made a waving motion. "Forget it, as long as there are no soldiers near Pierpoint, that's all I care about." He shook his head, wondering how he could tolerate the woman for the entire winter.

"Fewer than I expected," Siana responded. "We should be fine as long as you don't attract attention."

We would be fine as long as you don't murder anyone else, Sabin thought darkly. "Thanks," he said with a forced smile.

Siana turned her back and left without a response.

They would definitely need separate cabins.

---

Four cloaked men walked into the town. No one paid attention to them, despite the fact that one was limping along with most of his weight being supported by his friend. After all, though the Empire had restored order, such injuries were still quite a common sight. Many a refugee had come from the south with similar hurts. Some had gone even farther into the north in order to get away from the chaos that gripped the Core.

Edgar had talked to a couple travelers on the road. He had not been able to ask too much or else he would seem out of place. However, he had heard whispers of war between the Empire's generals, infighting amidst different factions, and the monsters that rampaged unchecked. As well, apparently there were great shortages of supplies in the Core. Hundreds of thousands were starving and the cause was, if Edgar took all that he heard at face value, due to the pestilence of magic.

The venom and hatred of magic scared Edgar. Every refugee cursed the ancient power and found it responsible for nearly all the wrongs in the world. Edgar didn't blame them for their reaction. The Floating Continent had unleashed so much death and destruction during its fall that anyone who thought otherwise must have been insane. Still, Edgar had wished that the citizens of the Empire would blame the men responsible for the revival of magic: Gestahl, Kefka, and the rest of the Empire's top generals. If the people of the Empire blamed their leaders, reform was possible. Instead, the hatred had been focused on something else and those in power continued to go unpunished.

Edgar had plenty of time for introspection while he had waited in Nestil. He had come to the depressing conclusion that the civil war was, in a sense, caused by their actions. The Empire's citizens being subjugated in such a fashion was partially their fault. Killing Gestahl and Kefka on the Floating Continent had not been without consequence. They had been so intent on stopping Gestahl and his attempts to resurrect archaic magic that they did not plan for the aftermath. They did not analyze what a headless Empire would do, how its generals would react and whether the government could maintain peace and order. The Empire was twice as large as the entire Northern Continent; its last census had placed their population beyond fifty-million men, women and children. To think the Returners could simply destroy the Imperial government and return the world to peace had been stupidity idealized.

They had made the same mistake when they asked Terra to speak to the Espers beyond the Sealed Gate. They had not given thought to what the Espers would do. Creatures of magic that had numerous friends subjected to years of torture and eventual death, and the Returners had thought the Espers would help fight the Empire to a long-lasting peace. Pure, untainted stupidity.

The Espers had charged out of their realm and attacked Vector in a horrifying display of vengeance, leading to fifty-thousand innocent lives dead and hundreds of thousands suffering because of their actions. Indiscriminate death visited by powers unimaginable, and Edgar had not even seen it coming. His father would have been shamed at his lack of foresight.

Edgar's mind kept wandering to the sight of a young child, perhaps five years of age, resting by the river with her parents. She had the courage to ask them where they were going. The innocence in her brown eyes had been overwhelming.

"We're headed south," Edgar had replied with a forced smile. "Our friend is hurt really badly and we need to find him a good doctor. They can save him in the south."

Without pause, the little girl had instantly responded. "You shouldn't go that way, it's cold and there's nothing to eat." Her eyes then lit up. "You can come with me! Mommy is going to take us to Auntie's place and we'll be safe there. You can come too! No more darkness, no more monsters, and no more magic!"

A child of the Empire's Core had told him that. It had shaken him to the very depths to hear such words.

That was the least of their worries though.

Cartha was a small town, bigger than Nestil but certainly no metropolis, which bordered the forests surrounding the Tzen mountain range. In order to cross into the city limits, it was necessary to walk across many bridges as much of the city was built on top of a river.

Imperial soldiers were everywhere in Cartha. The garrison was nearly thrice the size of the one in Nestil. It was fortunate that the times were so chaotic, or else they would have been caught quite quickly. Their faces were hidden within hooded shadows so that they did not attract attention, but it was still highly suspicious and Edgar wondered how they would enter the capital of Tzen. Cartha and Nestil were small, hardly worth mentioning when one spoke of the Empire. However, Tzen was the capital of a province and one of the largest cities within the Empire. It would be heavily defended and in times of civil war, soldiers were probably even more alert than ever. After all, anyone could have been an enemy. They could be spying or planning sabotage. Even those within the ranks must have been eying one another, wondering where the loyalties of their friends laid.

The inn Garrett had suggested was exactly as Edgar wanted. It was low-class, without a bar, and the innkeeper asked no questions. They got their rooms without any strange looks and laid Setzer to rest as soon as they could.

Setzer had woken only two days ago, but they did not want to stay in Nestil any longer than necessary. Kenneth pronounced that Setzer was healthy, but his body had been weakened from the ordeal and would take many days to recover. Still, he had managed to walk with a limp and Cyan had helped Setzer make the journey.

Edgar eyed Strago. The old man had his eyes closed and his arms crossed, resting in chair deformed from years of abuse. The lore-master's worry could be seen in the creases on his face. Edgar knew that Strago wanted nothing more than to continue their journey to Tzen, but not with Setzer's current condition.

Two days, he promised. Two days before the gambler would be rested and moving by himself.

Edgar hoped Strago would not do anything foolish in those two days. A smile touched his face when he thought that. It was not an image of Strago, but rather of his brother. Foolishness was his business, such as the time he had jumped into the rapids in order to chase their enemy.

"I hope Sabin is having an easier time than we are," he said to himself.

---

Sabin's eyes snapped open. His focused mediation was broken when he felt the chocobo carriage grind to a sudden halt. He could hear Heller outside talking with someone. He took a peek through the curtains of their carriage and looked for the cause of the disturbance.

"What is it?" Siana asked. She had already looked out her side of the window but saw nothing.

"Men, and women... they look like beggars," Sabin remarked in confusion. Sabin took a quick sip of water from his canteen, deciding what to do about the strange crowd. "I'll go out."

Siana had already opened her door and strolled out into the frigid air.

Winter was upon them and the fields north of the Plains of Incledon were rocky and dry. They were to reach Pierpoint that day. The interruption and their proximity to civilization must have been related.

Sabin stepped outside and saw the roadblock finally. His eyes opened wide in shock. It was comprised of people, five shriveled women whose skin hung from the bones had strung themselves across the narrow road. Three men and another woman, equally thin, had swarmed the carriage as soon as it had stopped. They were chattering continuously but Sabin couldn't make out any sentences.

Even though they had escaped their pursuers and were safe in such a desolate region, Sabin felt goosebumps rise. He did not feel this type of anxiety when they were running from Godric. Something was desperately wrong here. The men and women were clothed in rags... no, the rags simply hung from their boney bodies. Several were missing arms and legs. Their eyes were wide and filled with fear, their hair a mess and the constant senseless blather that came from their mouths told Sabin more than anything they could have said.

These people had been tortured. Not just tortured, but also subjected to horrifying violence for probably months now.

"Please, we have nothing to give you," Heller growled as one of the men had climbed onto the carriage. The man was missing an eye, all his teeth, and crawled and scratched at Heller's driving seat. "And say something normal! I don't speak crazy."

Sabin let one of the other men grab his arm. He had both eyes at least, but the right ear was missing and there were stitches all throughout his chest. Rashes were present all over his skin, ugly red blotches that turned the stomach.

"Coming, coming," the man rasped. "God, darkness, faith and fallen. Cometh Empire... one way, one way."

Sabin softly pulled away the insane man's hand.

"By the Emperor, what has happened to these people?" Siana whispered. She had drawn a knife, but her eyes were wide at the sight of the women on the road. They were mutilated worse than the men were and Sabin felt bile rising in his throat. He knew what this was.

"The Empire," Sabin said. "These people have been tortured or... worse," he trailed off, unable to take his eyes off one of the girls at the lead of the roadblock. Half her face had been scarred, her right eye gone and her mouth twisted towards her broken nose. She was looking at him, trying to say something but she had no tongue. "Disgusting," he whispered. Revulsion at what the Empire renewed, he spun to Heller. "We need to get these people some help," Sabin said.

"No one... human would do this," Siana knelt down and tried to help one of the girls up. "It has to be monsters," she whispered.

"Wishful thinking," Sabin growled. "Even monsters treat their victims better."

"Then mercenaries, or those drug-addicted scum," Siana explained as she stood up. Her eyes were filled with sadness, tears of empathy only moments away. "They did this."

"Don't be a fool. Only Imperial soldiers-"

"The Empire did not do this!" Siana shouted. She spun around and glared at him with more wrath than Sabin thought her capable of. She finally had enough of his talk, his preaching on the horrors of the Empire. She hated how he spoke about her peers and his words sounded very much like he was blaming her for what had happened to these people.

She slapped him across the face without realizing it. It surprised her, but she didn't feel sorry for it. In fact, it felt good. "Soldiers do not do this!" she screamed. "We protect people, fight monsters, bring law and order! We don't mutilate them, cut out their eyes, tear their breasts off and toss them into the wild you fucking idiot!"

'We'. Sabin suddenly found the sight of Siana revolting. Her hair was the color of spilt blood, and the anger on her face the same rage as those soldiers that had senselessly slaughtered so many of Doma.

Sabin took a deep breath. He tried to calm himself as Duncan had taught him.

But surrounded by these men and women, so brutally tortured into twisted aberrations of the human form, Sabin couldn't keep the hatred within. The violence of the war in Doma returned to his memories, how he and Shadow had stumbled on village after village of the dead. He remembered the stories Cyan had recounted of the horrors of the Imperial Army.

His hands shook from anger. This deluded, immoral Imperial killer had the audacity to lecture him?

"Listen here you murdering bitch," Sabin growled. He caught her hand again before she slapped him from the insult.

They had so been intent on each other that neither noticed where the carriage had stopped. They did not notice how it had coincidentally halted at the base of two hills that blocked their view both east and west. They missed the rocky ridge that was right behind Sabin, positioned such that someone could sneak up behind him without Siana seeing.

"Don't you touch me!" Siana tried to pull away from his powerful grip.

"Shut up you-" Sabin cut himself off as he heard it. His anger had blinded him until now, when the rustling of the grasses, the soft squawks of the chocobos, the gentle breeze whistling by... all these elements told him that someone was inexplicably behind him.

Even before he turned around, he knew the man was there. Sabin's hand caught his assailant's outstretched arm by the cuff, an iron mace dangerously close to Sabin's face.

"Who are you?" Sabin asked. His anger had turned from Siana to this new threat.

His assailant was wearing green and brown speckled clothing; it was camouflage of some sort. Unfortunately, their surroundings were rocky and he stood out like a beacon of light. The man was heavily armed, knives strapped to his chest, an axe on his back and two swords at his sides.

Some manner of mercenary? A skillful one, if he could handle all those weapons, Sabin thought.

The man growled and broke Sabin's grip. He went for his sword.

Sabin's fist connected with the man's face, breaking the nose and splitting the lips with a spray of blood. His assailant landed on the ground, but not before Sabin sent another blow into his chest and knocked him unconscious.

It was then that Sabin realized the man made no sounds when he moved, not even when he fell to the ground.

Magic.

"Sabin!" Siana warned him.

Sabin turned away from the fallen attacker and noted another man, similarly dressed, lying at Siana's feet with his throat slit. That had not been what Siana was referring to.

They surrounded them with arrows nocked, swords and shields ready, spears leveled at them. Twenty-two men by his count, each looking as dangerous as the one Sabin just dealt with. Two rings of men had surrounded them and made it impossible for them to escape without a great deal of bloodshed. Each man was moving without noise, though they trampled the grasses and kicked aside pebbles with their amateur motions. These men were either unused to the spell that affected them, or rarely encountered someone of Sabin's skill.

"Take them alive, I'm impressed with these savages. They might be worth more than rodents."

Their commander was in the back, too far away to strike. Sabin had already judged every man that was near him, and the commander was the least of his worries. The first ring of warriors was dangerous enough to kill him. He cracked the knuckles of his clenched fists. Master Duncan, how would you handle such odds?

His late master did not answer. Instead, steel charged forth at Sabin.

"Siana, get to the carriage!" Sabin shouted as he spun. His arms and legs were his weapons and unlike the slow sloth-like movements of pole-arms, he was blazing fast. The men that came close had either their weapons broken, or their faces bloodied. Swords were a problem, but Sabin dodged and slipped around their blades with grace. He did not waste any breath, any movement, and struck only when necessary.

The archers did nothing because they were afraid of hitting their own. The pikemen and swordsmen could only approach Sabin two or three at a time, lest they get in one another's way. Though they outnumbered him, they still fell one by one. Unfortunately, Sabin did not have the time to ensure they stayed down when they fell. When he struck one, another would take his place. But the ring of men grew thinner and thinner as Sabin fought his way through the trap he had walked into.

As Sabin nailed another man in the side with a quick jab, there came a loud piercing command.

"Stop!"

Sabin did not listen, but the warriors around him certainly did. Two more fell to the ground before they were out of Sabin's reach and their shields in defensive positions. He had knocked out at least six of them, eight when he added the latest two, and hurt many of the others in the first ring. There were still too many though, and they were holding back for some reason.

Sabin spared a glance behind him. Siana had her back to the carriage, her knives out but she knew better than to get involved. Two of the mutilated men had crouched near the carriage, but the rest were still on the road. None had tried to run. In fact, they were all on the ground. Their arms were wrapped around their legs, head against the chest and they rocked back and forth like babies. Sabin looked up and saw that Heller was slouched over in the driver seat, an arrow embedded in his back. He swore angrily.

The commander was a man dressed in grey. He had a sash made of white silk upon his left hip and a fine mustache graced his face. He walked through the ring of men, coming to a stop about ten meters away from Sabin. "You are an interesting man, skilled and perceptive. The Guild shall grow strong with your assistance," the man said.

He had no weapons. Sabin carefully stowed away reference to this Guild and instead concentrated on this strange overconfident man. He wondered what the chances were that he could use their commander as a hostage. Probably very good, all the camouflaged men had obeyed their commander's orders without question.

The man in grey nodded at Sabin. "What is your name, savage?"

Sabin spared a quick glance behind him. Siana was eyeing their Heller's chocobo team. Good, Sabin thought. If she could cut loose the chocobos, they could escape this ambush.

"I will not be ignored, savage," the man in grey strolled up through the rings of men. "I offer you a chance at Enlightenment; to join the Guild and serve the ranks as loyal Peers of the Patrician. It is a great honor, one that is not extended to just any savage."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Sabin replied. He hoped to give Siana the time she needed.

"That is natural," the man in grey replied with a knowing look. "The pain you suffer daily must be unbearable, but do not fear. After the Enlightenment, you will find penance," he spread his arms around and looked at the men around him. "Is it not true, my loyal subjects?"

"Yes Peer Cardwell," the soldiers all replied as one.

The man in grey, Cardwell, turned to Sabin. "You will accompany us to-"

Sabin's hand flashed out. He had seen his opportunity to strike and without any further deliberation, he took the chance. A bolt of white energy appeared from Sabin's hand. His mind was clear as Duncan as taught him, his feelings calm and collected.

The Aurabolt shot through Caldwell and the two men in front of him, then into the warriors behind. The blast of white energy ripped the men apart, their screams barely heard before their bodies disappeared in the blazing heat of focused spirit energy.

Without thinking, Sabin charged forward before anyone else moved. His fists downed the two closest men with a pummel of blows. He turned around to check on Siana.

Yet Caldwell was somehow in front of him, screaming as his eyes blazed in a heat of anger. "Impressive, savage!" he shouted as a fireball shot from his outstretched arms.

Sabin dived aside, surprised by the Magitek Knight's fury. He rolled to a crouch but before he could face Caldwell, a sudden blow knocked the air out of him. A second blow came, his feet leaving the ground as he flew backwards through the sky. He landed face-first. The cold rocky ground was unkind to his landing, but he ignored the pain and quickly got to his feet.

His head exploded in pain as yet another invisible blow came. Sabin realized, too late, that Caldwell was somehow using fists of air to attack him. He could catch glimpses of the air pockets, thickened to the point that they distorted the images behind them, before they rained upon him. His attempts at blocking did nothing though, the occasional blow was luckily blocked but they were too fast, too many for him to defend.

When the blows at last stopped, Sabin realized he was on his knees and blood was dripping off his face. His throat was filled with some sort of warm liquid and breathing was a struggle. He looked up to see the black mustache above his face, a grin on Caldwell's face, while in his hand was a familiar iron mace.

"The Patrician will enjoy speaking with you."

The mace came down, greeting him with agony and torment before the darkness took him.

---

Edgar woke with a shock, sweat dripping down his face as he suppressed the urge to scream loudly. He struggled to catch his breath, wondering what had suddenly scared him so.

He was unsure of whether it was a nightmare. There was nothing memorable, no images, no sights nor sounds, but just the feeling of imminent danger.

The young king wiped his face upon his bed-sheets and breathed out slowly. He was calmer, but the chills were still fresh within his mind. He turned his head to the window and was surprised. Light was streaming through the blinds already. He assumed it was nearing noon by the brightness.

He had not slept for such a long time in years.

Edgar dressed quickly and walked out into the hallway. Cyan was waiting for him there, sitting in a chair calmly and reading some novel that he had picked up in the market. He had been quite insistent on heading to the market the day they entered Cartha, despite their need to stay hidden. When he returned, they found out that he had bought something to read and occupy his mind as to keep his thoughts from wandering.

"Strago is within Setzer's room," Cyan answered Edgar's unspoken question. An undertone of anger was present, impossible to tell had Edgar not known Cyan as well as he did. "Thou wish to learn of Setzer's condition, I presume."

Edgar nodded.

"He is well, but thou shalt not be pleased."

Edgar raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean by that?"

"Thou shalt see."

---

"No."

Edgar could feel his anger rising to uncontrollable levels. He took a deep breath and once again tried to assess the situation with a clear mind. It would be the third time he tried in the past quarter-hour.

Setzer Gabbiani stared outside with unblinking eyes. He had a faraway look on his face, his once strong features were ragged and hazard from weeks of starvation and then fighting the poison within his body. He was thinner than before and had lost much weight. Unlike Strago, Setzer had not spelled himself in order to survive the brutal crash. He had lived because of luck -- he had not been thrown clear of the airship crash despite being on deck -- and the strength of his spirit and body.

The gambler had seemed to have lost all that now. His luck had ended, his body was weak. Nevertheless, one thing remained: his spirit beamed with almost palpable excitement.

"Setzer, I understand your reluctance, considering your current state. But to abandon our friends is unthinkable," Edgar tried to reason with the man.

Strago had left the inn in a storm of anger, his rage barely contained as he threatened to tear Setzer's limbs asunder before Cyan had physically broken the two apart. Now Cyan was outside looking for Strago while Edgar was trying to control his own anger and temper his words with reason.

Setzer turned back to Edgar. His gaunt face was offset by the vibrant smile on his face. "Edgar," he said slowly... almost savoring the taste of the word. "It's not that I am reluctant. Being broken within an inch of your life gives you quite a bit of time to think. I have already explained my reasoning to Cyan and Strago."

"Then explain it to me," Edgar snapped. He was irritated at the man's refusal despite all that they had done for him. They had stayed behind and ensured his health, yet when they told him of their plan to enter Tzen, the man balked like a coward.

Setzer took a deep breath. He spread his thin arms and looked up at the roof. "The Emperor is dead," he declared.

"What does that have to do with anything?" The smile on Setzer's face was beyond aggravating. Edgar had long since run out of patience and only years of habit kept him composed.

Long grey hair fell across the gambler's face when he regarded Edgar again. The black undress coat that had been Setzer's hallmark of captaincy had long since been lost -- destroyed during the airship crash months back -- but he had found a puffy white tunic somewhere. Setzer gestured towards the window. "It means we're free," he said simply.

"Free?" Edgar echoed.

"Freedom," Setzer strolled over to the window and opened it, letting in a breeze of fresh but cold air.

"We accomplished a great deal by defeating the Empire," Edgar said with folded arms. "Not another soul will feel the Imperial heel crush their dreams, but there is still much to be done... and even if you don't agree with what we're trying to accomplish, certainly you would stand with us to save Terra and Relm!" His passionate appeal was heard, but not the way Edgar had intended.

"Dreams," Setzer whispered outside. He turned his head slightly and let the wind blow softly against his face. "Do you know how long I've waited for this day? To know in my heart that the Emperor is finally dead?"

Edgar frowned.

"It's a gambler's world now," Setzer continued. "A peaceful place filled with wondrous possibilities. No more is the threat of being restricted from chasing what you really want." His smile grew brighter when yet another cool breeze swept into the room. His eyes looked up into the sky. "I'm going follow my desires at last."

"You selfish little prick," Edgar growled. Any civility he claimed to have was lost.

"Not at all," Setzer responded calmly without turning his gaze from the clear azure skies. "You don't need me to save Relm. The three of you will do fine, your skills better suited for the task at hand. I would be just another body."

"You're a coward. We save your life and you won't even save a little girl's," Edgar scowled. "I almost regret pulling you from the burning hulk of your airship."

The topic of his vessel touched a nerve, as Setzer spun back around. "How dare you! The Blackjack was everything to me," he shouted. "I gave you the most important thing that I have, a memento of something you could never claim to have felt." A scrawny finger pointed at Edgar. "No matter how high and mighty you feel from the watching over my comatose body, I don't owe you anything!"

"No, not to me," Edgar's hand pounded against his own chest. "To the people you call friends, Setzer! You owe it to them, and you owe it to that little girl that protected your precious airship while flying around the Floating Continent. How could you live with yourself if you left her to die by the hand of the Empire?"

Setzer looked up. His eyes glared at Edgar as his lips curled into a scowl. "You left Celes to die as well, you hypocritical bastard!"

Edgar took a step back.

Before his coma and the poison, Setzer had been a man of great stature. Though the toxins had sapped his strength, he still bore the same frightening aura of an airship captain. That was rare enough, as only the Empire could field such advanced technological machinations. Even their Air Force had not made it public knowledge that they had airships. Sky armors were often seen in the Empire's cities, but actual vessels were thought to have been nothing more than dreams.

But on top of his rare command, Setzer actually owned his own airship. Somehow, he had both the intelligence and the influence to achieve what was still thought to be impossible. The Blackjack was well known throughout the world. It was a traveling casino that many wished to gamble aboard, not for the gaming, but for the prestige. Setzer Gabbiani was like a folk tale. Stories of his airship would travel from town to town and delight the ears of young children. People paid great entrance fees just to step aboard his vessel. Few had ever achieved that prestige though.

They had been lucky to catch Setzer trying to steal the heart of Maria, the star of the Jidoorian Opera House. Even luckier to have fate on their side, as Celes remarkably resembled Maria. They had laid a trap for the gambler and secured his loyalty for a short while. Then his eyes had been set on Celes and she played his gambling habit with a one-sided coin.

That had somehow been enough to maintain the charismatic man's loyalty. But Edgar had never trusted Setzer, and neither did Cyan. Yet after the captain saved them despite putting himself in mortal danger, it could hardly be argued that he wished them harm. Not even the threat of the Empire had given Setzer pause. The commanding airship captain had sided with them and none would tell him otherwise.

"We didn't let her die," Edgar defended himself. "She nearly killed Cyan in order to chase Kefka on her own! If we went after her, then everyone on the island would have died!"

Setzer's glare only intensified. "You left her to die, King Edgar, so that you could selfishly live!"

Edgar felt his face burn at his own words being turned back. "How dare you suggest that I am responsible for her death. I did everything I cou-"

"No you haven't!" Setzer interrupted with a shout. "You have done nothing! You have barely given a single bit of thought to Celes, instead focusing on your own problems. Why haven't you tried to go back to the Floating Continent? Why haven't you tried to save her if she's trapped?"

Edgar opened his mouth, but no words came out. He could explain the timing, the near-constant danger and the responsibilities that kept piling up. Yet at the end of the day, he knew that Setzer had a point. Celes was low-priority in his mind. She had been a good friend and trusted ally, but it was difficult to rationalize searching for her when Relm was in danger.

"I see you're speechless," Setzer growled. "I'll have you know that while you might have left her to die, I do not intend to. I'll find Celes and bring her back."

"We need you to find Relm," Edgar was at such a loss that he could do little more than repeat himself.

"The three of you will suffice. I'm going to do what I want to do, King Edgar," there was a great deal of contempt in his voice. "I'm not one of the peasants that you command around. I'm a free man. I suppose someone of your standing just doesn't understand that."

Edgar was ready to retort almost immediately, but an old memory made him pause. It was a long time ago, he could remember little more than the heat of the sun and the solemn air. His own words echoed through the sands of time. "What'll happen to this realm if we both leave? And what would Dad say?"

"So understand that I intend to save Celes. I think it's a compelling compromise," Setzer finished his reasoning. "Once she's safe, we'll come back and help fight the good fight. I promise you that." He held out his gaunt hand, waiting for Edgar's reaction.

It was more than reasonable, but for some reason Edgar couldn't fight the anger in his heart. He could see little more than Relm's eyes closed, lying on her side with an Imperial sword stuck through her. He could see her lifeblood flowing out of the fatal wound, her little hands bunched up into fists in a futile attempt at resistance. Her mouth was motionless, but he could hear the words formed from her last breath. She whispered for them to stop. She whispered for help. She whispered for protection.

She whispered for him.

Edgar looked up at the gambler, the thoughtless man who presumed to lecture him. A vagrant whose life was without any semblance of responsibility. Edgar's vision shook with rage. Words escaped him. Gestures were inadequate. His fist broke through the windowpanes in a single swift blow.

King Edgar Roni Figaro stormed away from Setzer.

---

Cyan was outside their door, leaning against the wall with his arms folded. His expression was dark and his lips motionless. He had heard everything, and the look in his eyes showed only the surface of the rage beneath. Edgar did not bother exchanging words with the old Knight and stormed outside.

Strago had been waiting for them in the streets of Cartha. He sat on the side of the road and watched blankly as chocobo-drawn carts passed by. Men and women passed by without a glance at the old man who stared despondently into nothingness. When he realized Cyan and Edgar had arrived, he saw the looks on their faces: a mixture of hatred and sadness. The wise old man instantly understood that the coward had won.

They left Cartha in a dark mood. The Empire did not stop them at the bridges; a fortunate coincidence for those soldiers that had been on duty. It was unknown how many the three men would cut down in their disillusioned state, but it was doubtful that the Cartha garrison had anywhere near those numbers ready for battle.

Behind them, a frail, wizened shadow of a man watched them leave the city.

"I swear the next time we meet, we will call each other friend without reserve," he whispered sadly.

---

Norris motioned for Clarkson. The soldier hurried to catch up to their leading officer and exchanged hushed words.

Their journey into the Strachan Mountains had been uneventful and calm. Still, Locke didn't like being back in the highlands. The memories of the Tzen Mountains were still fresh in his mind, but he had to admit it was vastly different this time. Norris knew where they were headed and they were surrounded by highly skilled men of the Empire. Locke recognized Clarkson and Sherwood, they had met in Albrook. Both had singly escorted Terra around the city. Given the fact that they had been chosen for this mission with Norris, no doubt they were highly capable and had been more than enough to keep Terra safe.

The sun was high in the sky. Though it provided little warmth, it did provide light. Light was something they had very little of during their struggle after the airship crash. Locke was thankful for every bit of sunshine and whispered a prayer that it would never be as dark as their trip through the Tzen Mountains.

Winter was fast approaching. Small flakes of snow had fallen, but they had melted on the ground. Still, it was getting cold and they were wrapped in much thicker clothes provided at the camp Karen commanded. Their grey cloaks had also been whitewashed to blend in with the coming snowfall. Terra was lucky to have a wolf skin mantle that was perfectly suited for the journey they would undertake. Her scarf had been replaced by a more fitting white one lifted from Imperial supplies.

They still did not know much about their secret mission. In fact, Norris kept them in the dark of what they had planned once they reached the city of Fanshaw.

Locke gave Norris a questioning glance, wondering what Norris had said to Clarkson.

Norris shrugged, obviously not planning to tell Locke of the orders he gave. The men that Norris had brought with him were extremely loyal to the old man. They seemed to be good friends despite the rank difference and even attempted to befriend Locke and Terra. Most of the soldiers that they had met, with the exception of Farin and his two men, had been quite unfriendly towards the two Returners. It must have been Norris' naturally outgoing disposition; it was infectious.

"How much longer through these mountains?" Locke asked. It had been their fourth day of travel, and Locke was wondering when they would actually enter the Core of the Empire.

Norris shrugged again. "A couple days," he said. "It depends on how the storms treat us. The clouds are moving quicker than they normally do. They will not break upon the peaks of Strachan and instead will become great storms deep into the mountain range. We might get trapped for some days," he replied.

"That doesn't sound good if we're on a tight schedule. There is a war going on, after all," Locke pointed out.

"We have no choice but to bear the burden," Norris stated. "The faster the route we take, the greater the chance that all of us die. The completed mission that is slightly delayed is still a better option that one that is not completed at all."

"Ah," was Locke's uninspired response. With his attempt at small talk beaten, he resigned himself back to staring at the barren landscape.

"Actually Locke, it's my turn to ask you a question," Norris said unexpectedly. When he saw Locke's surprise, his smile only widened. "I have questions too, I just don't ask them whenever they come to mind, but store them for the future."

Locke chuckled. "Alright, ask away."

"I was wondering about what Karen said back at the camp. She spoke of Sellenger and you seemed pretty confused until suddenly your eyes lit up like a campfire devouring dead grass. Now, what deed so great could catch her eye?"

Locke looked around and noticed that, by luck or Norris' deviousness, they were at the front of the group by quite some distance. Their conversation would be unheard by the soldiers -- as well as Terra -- if he simply lowered his voice. Though he did not actually want to tell Norris such a story, he almost felt as if he owed the old man at least a small part of the tale. Norris had been more than accommodating to his curiosity. It was the least he could do.

"Well, it involves Sellenger," Locke began.

"I could guess that much," Norris replied smartly.

Locke nodded to mask his slight annoyance. "It was about four years ago."

"That recent?" Norris whistled.

"Yes, well I was in Sellenger because I heard that the place was well-known for its fine arts. In particular, its jewelry stores were supposedly some of the best in the world. I found passage across the ocean and decided to take a vacation while seeing if the rumors were true. The Empire wasn't unfriendly to the northern continent then."

Norris nodded while he stroked his clean-shaven chin.

"Well, the rumors proved to be true and I picked up the finest stone I had ever seen," Locke recounted. "I didn't steal them," he said when he saw the look on Norris' face.

"You're pretty young," Norris said. "Considering it had been four years ago, I doubted you could afford such a thing. Sorry," Norris apologized.

"Well," Locke continued, "I got in trouble with the authorities anyways. They didn't like the fact that I had brought my friend along the trip."

Norris raised an eyebrow. "You bought an engagement ring?"

Locke narrowed his eyes. "I didn't say that," he said defensively.

Norris scoffed. "Well, it's obvious. The Emperor was an activist and always pushed for a great deal of change for the betterment of the Empire. If you got in trouble for bringing along a friend, then it must have been because you two were a young couple. The jewelry angle just tells me that I'm right, and you ended up getting stung by the ancient edict."

Locke looked away. "That doesn't matter. Do you want to hear the story or not?"

Norris shrugged. "If you're that uncomfortable with it, then I don't want to. I can guess the rest."

"That's pretty conceited of you," Locke growled. His mood was ugly now.

Norris grinned. "Karen was also a lowly Colonel four years ago. I recommended her promotion, so I know her history well. She was assigned to the Sellenger garrison as an instructor at the academy there. No doubt she noticed you when you caused a commotion with your little girlfriend. The Emperor's edict was quite old by that time and the problems with youth had mostly disappeared by then." Norris paused, turning around just as Clarkson had entered earshot.

Clarkson whispered something in Norris' ear and then ran back to the men behind them. In the distance, Locke could see Sherwood and Anthony talking to Terra and trying to make her laugh.

Norris continued when Clarkson was out of earshot. "After all, the children of the Empire put their efforts into the good of the lands instead of running away from their parents in doomed relationships. The Moral Crusade was genius and the children that grew up under such orders support it wholeheartedly, though I suppose an old man like me sees it as nothing but politics. Still, you would have stood out in her mind for that reason alone, as well as depending on what you ended up doing. Seeing that the punishment is a month with the army cleaning slop or something equally obscene, I have no doubt you escaped her soldiers and caused no small amount of trouble."

Locke glared at Norris.

"How accurate is my retelling?" Norris asked with the grin still on his face.

Locke shrugged. "Not at all," he said nonchalantly.

Norris laughed. "I'll ask Karen about it when we get back."

---

Edgar felt self-conscious. They strolled about in the streets of Tzen without any real disguises, but Strago had guaranteed them that his spell was without fault.

Magic or no magic, they were surrounded by Imperial troops. If were they caught, there was no possibility of escape. Soldiers were on every street, patrolling or running errands. The constant danger helped them forget Setzer's treachery.

The entire city had been militarized to an extent that Edgar barely recognized the place. He had been to Tzen once or twice on diplomatic visits, back when Figaro was still an ally of the Empire. The city had been quite a remarkable sight. It was nothing like the antiquated designs of Albrook or the cold industrialization of Vector, but rather a balance of beauty and functionality.

None of that was apparent any longer. The walls had been heavily fortified and artillery emplacements easily visible from miles away. The refugee problem that Edgar had heard about in Nestil and Cartha was no longer an issue. The fields of tents were tightly grouped together, and the roads cleared of citizens in order to make way for the troops arriving and departing the city. The masses within the capital had calmed down. Either that or they were afraid of all the soldiers.

There was a great deal of military activity. Edgar did not know the reason, but he doubted it would be good news for them. The whining of Magitek Armor engines could be heard everywhere and when they finally saw one, both Edgar and Cyan stopped in the middle of the street.

He had seen plenty of Magitek Armors in his lifetime, though never in such numbers. From the ambient noise, Tzen must have had one on every street. Pairs of machinations strolled down the cobblestones as often as patrolling soldiers. But it was not their increased presence that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

Edgar stared openly at the enclosure on top of the Magitek Armor, its pilot firmly defended behind a translucent shield that covered the entirety of the cockpit. It shone strangely, in such a fashion that Edgar knew that it was not glass but some sort of infernal material born from the labs of Vector.

Cyan stared up at the aging Armor -- it was painted a dull metallic color that was both peeling and rusting -- and the connotations of such a device sank in rapidly. The Doma Knight turned to the King of Figaro. "An unholy development," he whispered.

They looked further down the street and saw one of the brand new factories in Tzen. It was surrounded by Imperial soldiers and from its maw came two more Armors with the clear enclosure. A quick scan of the street and it was clear that not a single Magitek Armor was less than a decade old. The constant hum of heavy machinery emanating from the huge factories told the story to those willing to listen long enough: Tzen had not only been industrialized like Vector, but the Imperial War Machine had grown stronger in the midst of civil war.

Cyan looked worried and with good reason. The biggest weakness of the Magitek Armor had been the vulnerability of its pilot. Edgar's engineering talents might have dulled in the past years, but there was no doubt in his mind that the translucent covering could withstand the strongest arrowhead.

Moreover, to have the resources to upgrade even decade-old Armors with such technology... in the midst of civil war...

To say that Cyan had extensive experience with dispatching Magitek Armors was an understatement. Details on the Doma War had been sparse in Figaro, but in order for Doma Castle to survive the month after Imperial troops landed on the southern beaches, Imperial Armor had to have been rendered ineffective. Cyan was an authority on the subject matter, and the sweat running down his neck chilled Edgar to the bones.

"Where does this Lowell live again?" Strago asked. He had not noticed the state of the Imperial war machine, or perhaps more truthfully, he didn't care. "We must hurry!" His granddaughter's fate was the only thing on the mage's mind. The old man could be quite stubborn, although this time it was with good reason.

"Just around the corner," Edgar answered. He tried to ignore his observations about the Imperial military, but found that he couldn't. The upgrading of the entire fleet of Armors as well as the mustering of so many men, it had to mean something big had happened.

Or was going to happen...

Edgar shook his head. No matter, their concern was not the fate of the Empire. It was their friends that were important, not the remnants of Gestahl's legacy. Hopefully they could find Relm, Terra and Locke without any serious trouble, and then easily charter a boat to Figaro. Let the Empire tear itself apart in civil war and then deal with the stragglers.

---

Lowell was a Returner sympathizer, one of the many in Tzen, but the only one that Edgar could remember off-hand. The Kingdom of Tzen had been conquered by the Empire a dozen years past, and scars of war could not heal in such a short time. Gestahl had executed the entire royal house of Tzen after their surrender, and then employed an unpopular governor to handle affairs of the conquered lands. Taxes paid by the former citizens of Tzen had been astronomical and there had been famine and drought in the early years under Imperial rule. It had been revenge for the grievous losses that the Tzen Knights had inflicted on Imperial troops during the war.

Edgar's father had helped hide some of the Tzen nobility, the few that had not caught the eye of the Emperor because of their low standing or alleged death in battle. When Edgar had taken the throne, the secret documents detailing the existence of such refugees in the Kingdom of Figaro had become part of the burden he held. Edgar spoke at length with those former noblemen, many with families again, and had learned much of the war and the tactics the Empire employed.

In particular, he had heard of the Siege of the Gap. Between Tzen and the Imperial Core was the Gap of Reddenhurst, a small plateau that was surrounded by mountains and easily held by fortresses upon overlooking ridges. It was the only way north, unless one wished to journey around those mountain ranges.

The Gap of Reddenhurst had been where the Empire was defeated time after time. Archers could rain arrows upon those trying to breach the Gap and prevent any attempts to bypass the fortresses. The paths up to the stronghold had been treacherous and narrow, so that the outnumbered men of Tzen could ignore the difference in manpower. Each step the Empire took had been paved with the blood of ten men before it. Gestahl remembered this and the citizens of Tzen paid dearly. They suffered in the years after being conquered, suffered in a way that left lasting grudges for those who survived.

Still, time had passed and children then had grown up as Imperial men and women. Tzen was now part of the Empire, the name of the city and region was the only reminder of the past. What resistance there had once been was gone, killed or forgotten. Many have given up the idea of openly fighting the Empire, most were too old or lacked the will, but were still too stubborn to accept its rule. They helped the Returners instead, and Edgar was thankful for that.

Lowell was old. His long white hair reached partway down his back, unwashed and uncombed. In the past, he had been a librarian within Castle Tzen. Because of his station, he had known a few of the Tzen Royal House, and the tears he shed when they were executed still stained the floors of his dwelling.

The two-story home was cozy and filled with the smell of old books; Lowell did little but read in his last years of his life. To survive during the first years of the Empire's rule, he had sold his services as a learned man to tutor the children of the Emperor's governor and his cabinet. He had continued to teach the Imperial aristocracy while he helped the Returners in secrecy. With the recent changes to the ruling government, he had no job and spent his days deep within the books he loved, a cup of tea in one hand and the other propping up his thick glasses.

The former-librarian had been surprised to meet Edgar. "Never did I expect to be entertaining royalty again," he chuckled softly to himself while he searched for tealeaves.

Edgar thanked Lowell and introduced Cyan and Strago. "We're looking for a couple friends, and would appreciate a place to rest while we make our rounds. There will be no trouble, I assure you, we're trying to be quiet secretive," Edgar said.

"My home is yours," Lowell nodded as he took out a jar of honey. "I heard about the Emperor's death," the retired librarian took off his glasses and began to clean them with his shirt. "It's a sad fate... his passing that is."

Edgar was silent, instead wondering how exactly Strago's spell worked. Lowell had recognized his face instantly, yet Strago had promised them that his spell was without flaw.

Lowell put on his glasses. "I'm glad I lived until this day," he had a gleam in his eye. "I have no doubt your people were deeply involved, Edgar," there was a great deal of respect put into Edgar's name. Though his title had not been spoken explicitly, there was no doubt Lowell had meant it with all his heart. "I thank you for such a gift."

Edgar shook his head. "It's alright. You helped us enough in the past and our work just happened to be part of your dream."

They were herded into a dining room next to the kitchen. Lowell had been quite well off; he did teach nobility and was paid well for it. They all sat down while their host prepared tea.

"It appears that you have quite a bit of free time on your hands now," Edgar tried to make small talk.

Lowell sifted through tealeaves. "Yes. The neighbors have all found work in the factories, so they rarely come by now to entertain an old man. As for my teaching... during the Long Night there was a coup," he sounded quite sad.

"I'm sorry Lowell, for the children you taught," Edgar extended his apologizes quickly.

"No," Lowell shook his head. He turned back to them with a steaming teapot in hand. "They were spoiled brats with equally spoiled parents. I do not miss them."

"Then what's wrong?" Edgar asked after thanking Lowell for the tea.

"That I saw it coming," Lowell said as he poured himself a cup. "For years, I watched as the governor and his aides had less and less power; how the military seemed to be involved with everything. I watched as the aristocrats vanished in alleged monster attacks and how everyone just accepted it. The General here was subtle in her movements and people didn't ask the right questions to stop it from happening."

"A power-struggle," Edgar nodded in understanding. "You could say I am used to these politics," he smiled ironically. "The military coup must have been planned well ahead of time, perhaps for a year or more."

Lowell shook his head sadly. "People don't change. My once beautiful Tzen barely survives the wretched dark magic only to be plunged into war. I barely recognize the streets now. Monuments are ripped down. Factories spring up at every corner, even the roads themselves paved with melted stone. Once again, I am helpless as always... just another tired old man," he sighed.

Edgar felt a pang of guilt. He deftly maneuvered the topic to something else. They conversed for only a little while longer before Lowell retreated into his study. His study was nearly half of the house though, with many bookshelves that lined the walls to form narrow aisles. Books were stacked in a haphazard fashion, though the librarian probably had a method of ordering such piles. He read on the ground, hunched over some bounded text with a small candle for light.

When Edgar was reasonably sure they would be unheard by the old man, he turned to Strago and Cyan. "We'll start our search of the city with the herb shops," he said quietly. "They had to have been in at least one of them, although we'll be lucky if the shopkeeper remembers them. It's unfortunate that the marketplace is so busy and the streets so full."

"I have a couple ideas myself, so we should divide up the market and then go our separate ways," Strago said. He had remained patient only out of respect for Lowell. "Time is of the essence, we have wasted enough of it today."

Edgar did not like the look on Strago's face. The worry was evident in the wrinkles on his face, and Edgar was about to speak up when Cyan interrupted him.

"Strago is correct," Cyan argued crisply. "We must search post-haste for Relm."

Edgar could see that both men were thinking with their hearts rather than their brains. This was not going to end well.

Strago began to head for the door when Edgar suddenly remembered his question.

"Wait, Strago," Edgar held up a hand. "How does this spell work to hide our faces? It didn't seem to work on Lowell."

"The specifics are unnecessary for you to know," Strago waved Edgar off, clearly agitated by the delay. "I will begin the search now."

"Strago, if we don't know how vulnerable the spell is, then we could end up getting caught ourselves," Edgar warned.

Strago sighed. "It's just something to hide us from our enemies. It does nothing to those that are our friends," he said as he stood. "I have no time to explain everything, but it will be fine as long as I recast it when the sun rises." He turned away, heading for the door.

Edgar and Cyan did not stop the desperate grandfather. They exchanged a look of worry.

"I'll take the north, you have the south," Edgar said. Strago had already forgotten about dividing the marketplace, despite it being his own idea. "Let's hope Strago doesn't do anything stupid."

Cyan tied his cloak shut quickly, also eager to begin the search. "Our time grows short. The Empire is on the move."

"Yeah, I know." Edgar sighed. "I wish I knew why."

---

"Miles, take Anthony and scout ahead along that path," Norris Ferdinand pointed down the slope. They could see that the old dirt road they traveled, flanked by old pines and the darkness of the forest, twisted and turned all the way down the mountainside until it was lost in the valley ahead.

Both men saluted and quickly slipped into the trees.

"Bad feelings again?" Terra asked. It was not the first time that Norris ordered his men ahead. Every so often, the Colonel would suddenly give orders and the soldiers would vanish into the dense woods. Sometime later, despite the fact that they had never slowed down on their dirt path, those same soldiers would appear waiting patiently in front of them. Nothing had ever happened though.

"Always trust your feelings," Norris explained as he stared into the sky and frowned. "I learned that lesson the hard way years ago. I don't think I would have lived this long if I didn't, the ISF wasn't exactly kind to the careless."

"ISF?" Terra perked up at the mentioning of that term. "You were in the Special Forces?"

"You didn't think an old man like me would be swinging a sword on the front lines, now did you?" Norris grinned.

Terra frowned. She did not pick up Norris' teasing tone. "Did you know-?"

"Ah, so that's what this is about: General Chere," Norris interrupted. His eyes scanned the mountainside as he talked.

"Well..." Terra hadn't meant to ask about Celes.

"The answer is no. At least, not personally," Norris continued. They marched through one of the tight turns that was the signature of a switchback. "Her position as head of the ISF only lasted for a short while, though we were split up afterwards as a result," Norris grumbled. "Not very smart of the top brass, but that's water beneath the bridge." He waved a finger in the air, his focus elsewhere even while he rambled. "She defected and ended up fighting with you, I do believe. I'd say you probably know more about her than I would."

"I wasn't actually asking about her," Terra pointed out.

"No? Then why did you let me talk for so long?" Norris quipped with his attention focused on the thick mountain forest. His pace had slowed and the two of them were now trailing behind the main group of Imperial soldiers.

"You interrupted," Terra grumbled.

"Did I?"

Terra sighed. She gave up on her question and sped up. The dirt path twisted a full one-hundred and eighty degrees as they climbed down the mountain at a quick pace. Despite the frigid temperature, Terra could feel the sweat on her back. She hurried to catch up with the rest of the pack.

"You know, you really should ask that question," Norris had given up on whatever caught his attention earlier. His grin had yet to fade. "Let this opportunity slide, and it might never come up again."

He was teasing her, Terra thought. "I was just wondering if you knew Marcus."

"You'll have to be a bit more detailed than that," Norris raised an eyebrow. "I'm old. I've known at least a dozen men with that name in my lifetime."

Terra's brow furrowed. She couldn't remember Marcus' family name.

"Sandford," Locke offered. He had been keeping a protective eye on Terra and overheard their conversation.

Norris missed a step.

"What's wrong?" Terra asked. She had found it moderately disturbing that Locke had been listening, but seeing Norris trip was different altogether.

Norris laughed, quickly recovering from his near-fall. "I'm sorry, it's just surprising how small the world is sometimes," he said between chuckles.

"You knew him?" Locke slowed down so that he could walk beside Norris.

"Colonel Marcus Sandford was one of my best students," Norris Ferdinand reflected proudly. "He was a good swordsman, intelligent, quick wit to boot but most importantly, he had the charisma to lead. He was my second for over a year and that's when I noticed his skills; he got promoted through the ranks quickly. When General Chere was found to be a traitor, he both impressed and saddened me. You see, his unshakable loyalty had become a weakness. It caused him to be demoted all the way to Captain..."

"He was demoted?" Locke echoed. Something was nagging at him.

"House Sandford is a stubborn breed," Norris sighed.

"House Sandford?" Terra said in disbelief. "He was a nobleman?"

"That's righ-" Norris spun around and faced uphill. "Clarkson!" he screamed to his men in front.

Terra and Locke had both spent plenty of time on the battlefield. Instinctively, the two knew they were all in danger. Locke had grabbed Terra by the shoulder and pulled her protectively behind him. His other hand freed the shortbow on his back. He was sharp now, focused on his task as he grabbed the first arrow from his quiver.

Then they felt it.

It charged down the mountainside, crashing through the trees and ignoring the dirt path they were taking. It was like thunder charging down the cliff. Locke could see that it was injured, one horn was broken off and its purple skin had scars running along the length of the beast. A leg was broken, but it didn't matter as it wasn't running but falling down the mountain in a single-minded blood rage, intent on killing the humans that it considered prey.

A behemoth.

Locke would later wonder how the monster had survived the fall from the Floating Continent, how it had gotten as far south as the Strachan Mountains and how it had survived so many months in the wilderness without any food sources that could possibly be big enough to sustain it. He would wonder why it had been living in the mountains at such an altitude, and why it had decided that they were prey to be attacked. Finally, he would rack his brains trying to understand how an injured beast would decide to roll down the mountain in order to get to them.

At the moment, Locke simply pulled the bowstring tight and launched an arrow into the monster's eye.

Norris pointed with one hand and cast a spell of sorts. Locke didn't know if he saw the effect. The absolute lack of flames, ice, lightning, or even anything else to suggest that the behemoth had been hurt was not as surprising as the speed of which the monster traveled, no, fell towards them.

Trees, boulders, rocks, bushes and the multi-ton monster smashed through the dirt path. Norris jumped in one direction, Locke and Terra the other. They dived into the thicket and barely survived as the avalanche passed by. Smoke and dust was the trail it left, and Locke coughed when he tried to breathe. A rolling log had taken out the trees immediately around him and Terra laid no less than an arms-length away from a huge boulder that had been stopped by two barely still-standing pines.

"Terra! Are you alright?" he shouted.

Terra grunted in pain. Diving on the ground with her heavy pack had done more damage than the monster had. She pushed herself off the ground and looked in the direction of Locke's shouting.

"Behind you!" she shouted.

Locke swore at lady luck as a purple limb exploded through a tree trunk beside him. He dived to the forest floor but wasn't fast enough. The behemoth caught the top of his legs and Locke was airborne for a moment. He screamed in pain as his flight was broken by first the needles, and then the thick wooden trunk of a great pine. He crumpled at the base of the tree.

The behemoth looked at Locke, prone on the ground, and began to stalk closer.

Terra pointed at the monster and fire lanced outwards from her fingertips. It exploded against the behemoth's resilient skin and faded away. The purple-skinned monster turned away from Locke and glared at Terra.

Terra froze in horror as the behemoth charged towards her. She pointed at it again, her arm shaking, as she summoned another spell. This time, white-hot fire stretched forth from her hand and snaked around her body. Power from her immeasurable reserves bowed to her command and with a thought, the column of flame smashed into the behemoth's face and drew a horrifying scream of pain.

But the monster did not slow down.

It bore down upon her, moments away, and Terra could feel the rumbling inside her resurface. The siren's song was singing its seductive melody. Scarlet flames swirled about her, hungry for blood and screaming at its master to be let loose upon the world. Gripped with fear, she fought the feeling -- the limitless power! -- and the wall of flame dispersed futilely against the behemoth's armor-like skin. Her mouth was open in mute horror as she realized her time was up, the monster was upon her.

Terra's hair bellowed back as dust and pebbles showered her. She fell to the ground from the sudden impact. An invisible explosion had caught the behemoth in the side and sent it sprawling through a dozen trees. Arrows followed the behemoth's path and white-cloaked soldiers swarmed past Terra with bows drawn and ready. But the monster was too big, too heavy, and it broke through the last tree and continued its fall down the mountainside. They could hear its roar ended only with a horrendous thud that shook the land.

"Are you injured?" the closest archer, a blond-haired man that Terra recognized as Sherwood, looked her over.

A second man with dark hair, Anthony gave a thumbs-up signal. "She's fine sir!" he shouted louder than was prudent.

Sherwood gave his friend a pat on the back and then continued forward to where the behemoth fell.

Norris Ferdinand, his cloak ripped along the right arm, his face smeared with dirt, and his white hair disheveled, strode through the protective curtain of soldiers with a serious look on his face. "Anthony, Locke will need your first-aid skills. You three, with him," he ordered. As the soldiers dashed over to the injured Returner, Norris gave Terra a dangerous glare now that they were alone. "What were you doing there?" he had lowered his voice but his tone was deadly.

"I froze," Terra muttered.

"Not that," Norris growled. He grabbed her by the collar and pulled her off the ground. "You held back!"

Terra's eyes opened in surprise. How did he-

"You don't know how lucky you are that your friend survived," Norris whispered in a deadly voice. "I don't know what kind of game you're playing here, but if you think for a moment that underneath this grinning face is anything remotely stupid, you are sorely mistaken. I saw exactly what you did back, and it disgusts me!"

Terra tried to gasp for air, Norris was choking her.

"If you ever do that again," Norris continued. He had pulled her so close to his face that he was breathing on her. "If ever so much as hurt any of my men through your inaction, you will not live to see the next sunrise. Do you understand me?" His eyes bore down upon her with the more ferocity that the behemoth had.

Terra couldn't breathe; her words were nothing more than futile gasps. She nodded her head desperately, and fell to the ground with little ceremony.

"Miles! Help the girl up! We need to get out of here now!" Colonel Norris Ferdinand gave her one last threatening look and turned away.  



	10. Seriatim

**The Tenth Chapter - Seriatim**

It was a pretty clever idea, Edgar thought in retrospect. He adjusted the straps on his brown helmet carefully, making sure he looked exactly like a common soldier, before stepping out of the restaurant washrooms.

For the last few days, their search was fruitless. Strago had exhausted his ideas and started wandering the streets of Tzen in despair. He had grown more and more despondent as each hour passed. It was difficult to keep their hopes up. Even if their friends were alive, finding them would be almost impossible in the chaos of the civil war. Edgar sighed when he thought about that possibility. He imagined Relm, Terra and Locke being killed by stray arrows amidst a great battle, never to be heard from again. They would just be another few nameless bodies amongst thousands.

Cyan had discussed that possibility with Edgar at length. He suggested that if they could not find the trio, that they would cross the ocean and contact Banon and the rest of the Returners. The rebel information network in the Empire might be able to find their three comrades. It was simply too dangerous to stay in Tzen for an extended period, magic or no magic.

Edgar was relieved that the same problem would not affect Sabin. His brother was extremely resourceful. Sabin would get to Pierpoint and stay hidden until the end of winter. Then with minimal effort, Edgar could find his brother and bring him back to Figaro.

But now those plans were no longer necessary. Edgar could not believe his luck. He was talking to some patrons at the local tavern when he had seen an Imperial soldier on the street holding Relm's hand! In disbelief, he quickly followed the man -- no easy task considering the crowds and great numbers of similarly dressed soldiers on the street -- to a mansion in the wealthier section of town.

That had been an hour ago. Now Edgar walked up the steps and stopped in front of the guards. They glanced at him but were not suspicious. The brown leather uniform that he had stolen was a perfect fit and a fantastic disguise. Edgar had been more worried about knocking out a soldier without alerting the entire city, and had given little thought to how he would fill out the uniform. He simply waited for someone his height and dumb enough to be alone in a secluded area. It was obviously his lucky day.

Edgar crisply saluted the men standing guard outside the mansion. He had seen many others do the same, and mimicked their exact actions.

It worked. The two men saluted back and returned to their relaxed expressions.

The mansion was tacky. The entrance was decorated with outrageously expensive items: armored statues, large chandeliers and incredibly ugly paintings hung on the wall. It was probably the house of some highly-ranked aristocrat in Tzen with neither a sense of taste nor a wife to make up for his deficiencies.

Edgar walked around the mansion wondering how he would find Relm. Other similarly dressed soldiers walked with a purpose, and Edgar did not want to stand out by looking confused while he searched. He walked around the halls quickly and without pause. Whenever he met the end of a hall, he simply turned back around and pretended it was part of his job.

It seemed to work. Most of the soldiers didn't even acknowledge his presence. Men guarding the more important rooms watched as he strolled by, but that was out of boredom rather than suspicion.

Edgar was glad he did not alert Cyan or Strago. Cyan had too much integrity to keep Strago in the dark, and the lore-master would have done something foolish once he found out Relm was in Imperial hands. With this plan, Strago would never have to become involved. His emotions would be the end of all of them and so it logical to rescue Relm alone, Edgar reassured himself as he took the stairs to the second floor.

The timing of his infiltration could not have been better either. He heard that the military in Tzen was gathering for a major operation. The Civil War was still going strong and Tzen was going to throw its reserves into the fray. That meant that most of the soldiers stationed within the city were now were out in the fields. The fewer soldiers he had to fool, the better.

As he passed two more guards -- both half-asleep leaning against the pine walls -- he heard the sound of children's laughter.

Edgar stopped in front of the doors. It was a children's playroom, he guessed. This was probably the place.

The guards snapped to attention. The blond woman on his left straightened as she gave Edgar a quizzical look. "Yes, Sergeant?" she asked.

Well, Edgar thought, if he was playing the part of a soldier then he had better do it skillfully. No hesitation, he would just run circles around these guards.

"I'm here on orders from the Captain," Edgar lied.

The blond narrowed her green eyes. They were quite lovely, Edgar thought. In fact, she was probably quite attractive if she was not wearing the ugly brown armor. Curse the Imperials. Not only did they coerce women into the army, but they attired them in fashion so horrid it was criminal.

"What orders?" she asked.

Edgar rolled his eyes, making sure the blond guard noticed it. "The ones from the Captain. He's given me no time at all; you know how strict they are. I don't want any trouble right now," he continued to lie. "I'm already late and this little joke of yours isn't helping."

She was thoroughly confused now. "What in the Emperor's name are you talking about?"

Edgar glared at her, and then softened his gaze deliberately. He put a hand on her shoulder. "Don't tell me, they didn't give you the orders? That's completely like the officers. They never do anything correct," Edgar sighed loudly. He turned around and punched the wall for effect. "Listen," Edgar said as he turned back to the woman. "If I don't finish my job, we're going to both get the attention of the Captain, and I really think we don't need that."

The woman gazed over at her partner, who shrugged.

"He's got a point, remember when Harrin forgot to deliver the orders for that greasy Lieutenant's son?" her partner asked. "Harrin yelled at us for it, the idiot. As if it was our fault, the man's clumsy and forgetful."

"Yeah, and he docked a week's worth of pay," the woman grumbled. "With things as busy as they are now, our orders probably got lost on some overworked kid's desk. Alright," she said as she regarded Edgar. "Just don't scare any of the children. And hide those knives! I shouldn't have to tell you that, Sergeant."

Edgar looked down at his armor and noticed the wickedly curved blades that hung visibly from his belt. "Sorry about that," he said as he pulled the knives free and replaced them in their sheaths.

"Yeah, sure," the woman rolled her emerald eyes. "Just hurry up."

Edgar entered guarded room and was surprised at the number of children within. There were at least three dozen by his quick count, all playing with the various books and board games lying on the floor. The older children were reading quietly while the younger ones ran around or built towers of wooden blocks. A couple of the kids were wrestling over an old Imperial cloak, torn and ripped apart, but still a treasure for the young minds.

None of the kids looked up from their games; it seemed like a soldier was nothing for them to be concerned about. Edgar walked in and looked around.

"Edgar!"

Edgar turned around. A great grin appeared on his face as Relm threw her little arms around his waist.

"Hey," Edgar bent down on one leg and ruffled her blond hair. "I swear you're prettier than the last time I saw you," he said. "And I think taller, too."

Relm beamed, her blue eyes almost sparkling as she tightened her grip. "I missed you, lover boy," she gave him a wink but had kept her voice low.

Edgar frowned. Smart kid, she knew he had snuck into the mansion. But he was going to have to stop her from using that nickname. "We're leaving now, but you'll have to call me something more modest," he whispered.

Relm pressed her lips together in mock-frustration. "Fine," she relented.

"Call me..." Edgar tried to think of an alias. "Call me Gerad, and only if you have to," he said quietly. "Remember to act like I was just another soldier, ok?"

Relm bobbed her head. "Alright Gerad," she said enthusiastically. She looked like she was going to enjoy this game.

"Good girl," Edgar whispered before he stood back up. Now was the truly difficult task: convincing the guards at the door that this was his actual errand.

He walked back outside, where the blond haired guard was waiting for him. "Her?" she asked suspiciously.

Her partner looked confused as well. "Didn't she just get delivered to the playroom?" he asked.

Edgar was about to explain with his crafty lie when the woman spoke up.

"Yeah, but that's the real important kid," she noted. "A couple weeks ago, Brigadier Starson personally delivered her. Remember that?"

Her partner nodded. "That was a real scare," he said under his breath.

"Definitely," the blond guard turned back at Edgar. "No wonder you're so worried. Your C.O. is probably under direct orders from the General himself. If you were late, I'd bet the General would fry you for failing him."

Edgar scratched his head. "Yeah," he said, trying his best to act self-conscious.

"General Starson is a scary one, you hear the rumor how he personally executed the Captain of the Eighty-Sixth?" the woman shook her head sadly, her locks of blond hair swaying from side to side as she did so.

"Yeah," her partner added. "He seems to really enjoy using that sword, but the Eighty-Sixth had it coming. They tried to backstab all of us."

"It's still probably best not to get on his bad side," the woman pointed out.

Edgar nodded. "Well, I need to go. I'll probably be late already," he gestured down the hall.

"Yeah," the woman said. "Good luck, you'll need it."

Edgar chuckled. "Thanks," he said as he walked away.

Well that was unexpectedly easy, Edgar thought to himself as he led Relm down the flight of stairs. With the disguise spell that Strago had cast, he was pretty good at espionage. If only Strago had told them of this spell earlier, it might have made everything easier.

As he was within sight of the front doors, moments from leaving the mansion, he heard a loud commanding voice shout in his direction.

"Sergeant!"

Edgar cursed. He had been so close from having to deal with anyone else. It was time to lie, except now he could use some of the names the blond had told him. Starson, Edgar believed the General's name was. At least it was easier to make up a believable story now.

He let go of Relm's hand and turned around. It was another woman that had called his rank, though it was not the blond-haired girl from before. The red-haired soldier that was approaching was an officer of some sort. That was obvious by the uniform, although Edgar could not see any command bars. He was fortunate, that meant it was probably just some staff-sergeant or unimportant pen-pusher.

"I'm sorry ma'am," Edgar said. "I'm in a hurry as-"

"What are you doing with that girl, Sergeant?" the woman interrupted him.

Edgar felt Relm poking him in the side. He patted her aside, hoping that she would not say anything at the moment. His mind formulated a good excuse and he sighed loudly for effect. "My orders ma'am, are to deliver her to the Captain. It's an errand for General Starson and I'm rather late already."

The woman narrowed her eyes. "I didn't hear about any such orders."

Relm was squeezing his hand uncomfortably now. Edgar sighed again, louder this time and not just for effect. "That's always happening with orders these days, it's been so busy. Notifications just don't get sent around on time anymore."

The woman stroked her chin. "Yes, I suppose so."

"I really must be off... no reason to give the General a reason to use that sword," Edgar lied. "It's probably best to not get on his bad side."

She nodded and mumbled something under her breath, staring up at the ceiling in thought. Edgar let his eyes roam for a moment. It was strange how many beautiful women were in the Imperial army. Edgar remembered Vector had been much the same way, though the waitresses were definitely cut from a finer cloth. This one was older than the norm; maybe his age...

Edgar snapped out of his thoughts when he realized the woman was looking at him in a quizzical manner.

"Yes? Sorry, I must have missed your question," Edgar stammered in an embarrassed tone.

She shook her head. "No question," she said. Her finger was pointed at him, and there was a pleasant smile on her face.

"What is it?" Edgar asked.

"I just expected you a bit earlier, King Edgar."

Edgar blinked twice, surprised. "Excuse me?" he said while his heart began to race. His arm lowered to the sheathed knives at his belt.

The woman folded her arms. Her blue eyes gazed up and down his front. "You look pretty good in the brown leather, which is quite a feat."

"I'm sorry, you must have me mistaken for-" Edgar paused when he felt an arm on his shoulder. He turned around to face one of the largest men he had ever seen in his life. The stone-faced man must have nearly been half a head taller than he.

"Is there trouble here?" the man asked.

"None at all, Valerio," the woman replied. She held out her arm in a friendly gesture. "This is King Edgar. He's finally decided to pay us a visit."

Edgar turned back to the woman.

"You should really listen to Relm. After all, she recognized me when you did not," the woman continued in a gentle teasing tone.

Edgar finally looked down at Relm, whose face was white as she hid behind his leg. "You didn't listen to me!" she glared at him. Edgar turned back into those penetrating blue eyes. His heart sank as he finally solved the puzzle in front of him.

"You wouldn't happen to be the General, would you?" he asked sheepishly, despite already knowing the answer.

The woman shrugged. "That would be a good deduction, though a little slow."

Edgar sighed. "Danielle Meras?"

"Pleased to meet you, Edgar Roni Figaro," Danielle replied. "I was on my way for lunch, care to join me?"

"I rather not, I am quite busy," Edgar grumbled.

Danielle put her hand on his. He was taller than she but at the moment, it certainly did not seem that way.

"I insist," she said in a mocking seductive tone.

"I really don't have the time," Edgar replied soothingly.

"I don't deal with rejection well. The last man who refused my invitation found himself hanging from the city gates," Danielle continued in a pleasant voice.

"The Sylvan Dale's a nice place, I ate there last time I was in Tzen," Edgar replied without hesitation. "They had delectable shrimp and I still haven't tried the oysters."

"That's fantastic. I love seafood."

---

Edgar watched as the second man, who looked almost like Valerio's twin, listen to Danielle's hushed orders without any emotion. He left without ever uttering a word.

They were in the Sylvan Dale, a high-class restaurant on the northern edge of town. The proprietor had not recognized Edgar or Danielle, the latter thoroughly confusing Edgar. Admittedly, Danielle did not travel with a large entourage nor did she have any of the easily visible command stars that a general was privy to. The only escort she had was Valerio, though the man seemed more than capable of handling any threat. Still, one would expect that people would recognize the Imperial General that controlled their city.

"You weren't actually headed for lunch, were you?" Edgar asked.

Danielle leaned back in her comfortable chair. They were alone in a private room that was reserved exclusively for noblemen or high-ranking aristocrats, separated by a table that could have seated well over twenty men. Valerio was immediately outside the door, probably well within earshot, and all of Edgar's weapons had been taken from him. Danielle looked like she could easily defend herself against an unarmed man, though not against his magic. But Edgar doubted he could escape even if he did manage to knock her out and deal with the giant statue of a man outside.

She also had Relm as added security, who had been taken back to the playroom within the mansion. Edgar shook his head. He was knee-deep in trouble this time.

"I was headed for lunch, but I don't usually bother with such pleasantries," Danielle replied. She brushed at a strand of her fiery red hair. "With supply situation the way it is, I would not be setting a proper example for those that follow me. How could I dine in such extravagance when ration stamps are being handed out and everyone is being asked to tighten their belts, including the military despite our strict control over all goods? Were I not entertaining royalty such as you, King Edgar, a plain sandwich would have been sufficient."

She said those words, 'King Edgar', in a peculiar manner; almost in a breathless tone with an inflection on his title. Edgar wondered if it was either her way of mocking him, or if she was testing him.

"I suppose you would rather find out the fate of your friends though," she continued. Her finger traced circles onto the beautiful oak table. "That is probably the only reason you would enter this city."

Edgar folded his arms. "You're the one that delivered the laryl," he said. Everything was beginning to fall into place.

"Arranged for the delivery, yes," Danielle acknowledged. "You're both concise and quick. I must admit that the information I had on you did not show how clever you really are. You managed to fool my guards and almost escaped with Relm, all raising the slightest alarm." Her blue eyes were intently focused on him. "It's really a shame that you didn't manage to discern my identity earlier, or else you would have pulled off a miracle."

Edgar stared back at Danielle. "Where is Terra and Locke?" he asked.

"Rude and ill-mannered. I expected more," Danielle cautioned. Her warm smile vanished with the blink of an eye.

Edgar shrugged. He leaned back into his chair. There was really nothing else he could do, he thought. It would be best if he entertained her kinder side; it seemed she was quick to anger. "Alright," he answered. "I'm sorry about that, General Meras."

"Danielle will be fine," she replied tartly as she sipped from her teacup.

Edgar remembered Marcus told him that Danielle was power-hungry. That would explain most of her actions but didn't describe her personality. Edgar found himself comparing her to Celes, albeit with more of an edge. He took a sip from the teacup in front of him and watched carefully. The motions she made with her hands as she talked, the idle tracing of patterns with her fingers, the quick snappy insults, and the inflection and demeanor; Celes shared the same idiosyncrasies. In fact, the long red hair was-

"You're quite calm, considering your situation," Danielle remarked.

Edgar swirled the tea with the small spoon provided. "You don't intend to have me executed," Edgar said. "Since Relm is also alive, it appears that our crimes against the Empire are not a priority for you."

"It would be a waste to kill you, especially when you can do so much for me," Danielle acknowledged.

Edgar raised an eyebrow. "You want something from me?"

"Of course. You are the solution to a problem you don't even know exists. Such is the downside of living in the backwaters of the Empire," Danielle replied.

Edgar finished his tea and grimaced; it had been bitter at the bottom. He unfolded his arms. "Perhaps we could work out an amicable deal," he said as he sought a way out of the trouble he had caused.

"I already have a deal in mind," Danielle smiled confidently. "I'm sure you'll find it more than accommodating."

With the tap of her finger -- the fine ceramic teacup ringing loudly -- the door opened and Valerio walked in with a large roll of canvas underneath his arm. He unfurled the map, laid it carefully in front of them, and then left.

It was a map of the world, and a fine one at that! With detail to match the size of the canvas, Edgar enviously noted precision in distances and scale amongst the Imperial continent. Yet the wonder did not end there, for many of the mountain passes in his lands were marked, even the ones that were secret and only known to a select few. A few routes through the Kolt and Lete Mountains were completely new to him, including one mountain path that led directly to Narshe.

"As you know well, Tzen is central to the Empire's coastal defense. Our military ports are vast compared to those of your kingdom, and our capable Navy more than a match for your nation."

Edgar narrowed his eyes. The center of the map, where all major shipping lanes from Tzen to South Figaro crossed, was tarnished by unbecoming black paint. "What's with this region?" he asked. He stood up and pointed at the dark spot.

"The Floating Continent's remains," Danielle answered quietly.

Edgar pressed his lips together. So that had been where it landed. He had been wondering for a while. Had it landed on ground, it would have caused great havoc. Since it had landed in the ocean though...

"Many of our ships were wrecked by the great waves that the Floating Island caused upon its crash. Even now, the area is a complete disaster. Great storms and terrible winds make that region completely impossible to sail through, and that's without mentioning the pieces of the continent that are spread about and float haphazardly like mines. Maps become outdated before they're drawn. Many of our ships were lost trying to find passage."

"You attacked Figaro?" Edgar asked, astonished.

"No. A peace treaty was my aim," Danielle answered quickly. When she noticed Edgar's surprised expression, she smirked. "We are in the midst of civil war, King Edgar. Fighting your kingdom would be irresponsible to those under my command."

"Irresponsible? The Empire has been expanding its borders for two dozen years now, and you tell me that suddenly common-sense will prevail over the expansionism that your entire military structure is geared towards?" Edgar frowned. "You'll have to excuse my directness, but I don't believe you."

"I have had very little to do with Emperor Gestahl's recent war with your precious Northern Continent," Danielle replied. Her hands smoothed out the expansive map as she smiled unnervingly. "In fact, I did little more than sit here in this very province and shuffle papers from one pile to the next."

"But you had so much more to do with this very region only a decade ago," Edgar retorted. Marcus' words were clear in his memory and they matched what he learned from all the refugees from Tzen. Danielle Meras would have been incredibly young at that time -- perhaps no more than twenty years old -- but age had never been a major factor in the Imperial Armed Forces. Celes alone proved that the Imperials could recognize talent and promote accordingly, almost with reckless abandon to maturity and experience.

"A learned man," Danielle raised an eyebrow. "One with unexpectedly detailed knowledge of Imperial History, considering your education could only have come from your Kingdom's scholars." Her hands traced out a route from the capital of Tzen to Vector, fingers deftly dancing through the mountains as she followed trail after trail. "Though," she added after introspection, "I suppose it's rather difficult to keep quiet my rather well-known achievements."

Edgar folded his arms, victorious. "And here you are, trying to convince me that you've changed."

Danielle turned her clear blue eyes on him, wiping the smile off his face with her glare. "King Edgar, you must understand that while I may entertain the status of a conqueror, I am anything but. My actions during that war were one borne of desire to save my friends, not for power or wealth. I took command of a disorganized army reeling from the loss of its command and merely ended the war. I didn't start one then and I don't intend to start now. I am speaking the truth when I tell you that I sent ambassadors to the north for the explicit purpose of peace." Her hands stopped suddenly, fingers hovering over the Imperial Capital.

Edgar didn't trust her, but he decided to let the topic drop. Instead, he looked down at the finely detailed map. The region that was painted black -- presumably because it was treacherous to sail through -- was extremely large. To go around would take weeks compared to the usual six day journey. "At least three weeks," he mumbled to himself.

"Yes, to sail around the remnants of that continent is a three-week journey. It was quite a voyage, but a few of my ambassadors finally made contact with your countrymen two weeks ago," Danielle replied.

"How would you know that? They couldn't have returned yet," Edgar asked the obvious.

"The messenger birds brought the news," Danielle said.

Edgar glanced up. The Empire's reliance on carrier pigeons was well-known to him, and the scholars in Figaro were still trying to come up with a suitable counter to interrupt such an important means of communication. Still, she was not telling him the entire truth... or was waiting for him to make the connection. He sat back down and stared at the huge coastline near South Figaro. "Your people were killed," he surmised.

Danielle nodded. "I doubt it was your orders though."

"And why do you doubt that?" Edgar asked. "I might have left standing orders for any Imperial vessels to be attacked on sight. You did invade and occupy South Figaro," Edgar responded angrily. "You smashed all the ships of trade for the past year, even those from Nikeah! The Imperial Navy has been at a state of war with the entire world and has killed thousands of innocent civilian sailors."

She chuckled softly. "Well then King Edgar, I guess I judged you wrongly. An eye for an eye is your royal philosophy?"

That gave Edgar pause. She was suggesting that his navy had done the same. That was not right. He had never allowed any of the Admirals to engage in unrestricted naval warfare.

"I didn't think so," Danielle gestured at the mapped ocean. "All trading vessels that normally leave for Figaro have not returned," Danielle said. "The men I sent were also killed, though they were flying the Imperial flag." She raised a finger and pointed at his country. "Of course, there is also the matter of the letters carried by the pigeons, sent by my spies."

Edgar studied the engravings on his teacup while he debated the situation. His navy was not particularly strong, and if the Empire had lost a great many ships because of the Floating Continent's crash, then his forces would have suffered similarly. If...

No. He wouldn't dare.

"The letters were quite short and hurried. Apparently there has been a new royal edict: Every vessel was to be engaged on sight without exception. It was signed-"

"Duke Daggart Winthron," Edgar whispered in dread.

Danielle laughed pleasantly. "So this was expected," she said as she visibly relaxed. Danielle paused, allowing Edgar to pour himself another cup of tea, and reached over the side of her chair. From a folder she drew a fine piece of parchment, carelessly tossed in front of Edgar.

An official Figarian Rescript, with an all-too familiar crest but oddly foreign signature.

"'The exalted and honorable King Daggart' would be the inscription," Danielle pointed out the words Edgar had been studying.

"I almost regret pardoning him now," he remarked quietly.

The red-haired General smiled slyly and leaned back into her seat. She leaned on an arm while idly stirring tea with the other. "Who is this upstart that has supplanted your rule?"

Edgar sighed. "Daggart Winthron was once a close friend of my father," he explained. There was no need to hide such history from Danielle. No blackmailing or insidious undermining could occur now that Daggart had already revealed his true colors. "He was an influential noblemen and a stalwart supporter of the family. When I was new to the throne, we found Daggart a participant of an assassination plot."

Danielle clicked her tongue loudly. "Such a peaceful kingdom," she commented.

"I didn't believe it at the time. Instead of an execution, I pardoned Daggart for his crime and kept him close. He had been a good advisor for many years -- deftly keeping the nobility in line by playing their power games against one another instead of the throne -- and I never expected this..." Edgar trailed off as his mind continued the train of thought. For Daggart to take the throne, it was almost unthinkable. While he was a skillful orator, this was far different. It could not have been accomplished without bloodshed.

"I would like you to remove Daggart from power," Danielle demanded softly, but with no less authority. "I will provide an escort and you will recover your kingship in return."

Edgar looked up, a short-lived smile appearing on his face. Of course she would want him back in power; he would be more than willing to sign another peace treaty. After all, he had been a great proponent of the original treaty they had signed with Gestahl. Although the Emperor had betrayed them a few weeks later, it did not sully Edgar's hopes for peace.

Yet if Danielle desired a treaty, then Figaro was of some danger to the Imperials. Daggart must have been building up the navy. Although they could not defeat the Empire's armies, their navy was not as vast. In addition, the Floating Continent's crash had ruined the Empire's current fleet. If he considered only newly constructed vessels from a faction of the Empire, then Figaro had the industrial might to meet or even exceed the enemy.

Maintaining naval superiority would prevent another incursion by the Imperial Army, although that would be difficult. They would have to defend the entire coast, or else the Empire would merely find a distant beachhead. Once on land, they were invincible.

They could not fight a war against the Empire for all of eternity. He could save millions of lives with this treaty. The cost was even less than then one Terra bore when she searched out the Espers in Thamasa.

And look how well that ended up.

Edgar pointed at Danielle and ignored his cynical side. "What of Relm?"

"She stays with me, of course," the red-haired General flipped her ponytail over her shoulder. "She serves as insurance that you will do your part."

"A peace treaty forged from the swordpoint leveled at a child," Edgar murmured. "That is certainly a recipe for trust between leaders and nations."

That caught Danielle by surprise, but it did not bode well for him. Instead of anger, she laughed. "Really, I knew you were idealistic but this is just ridiculous. How could you have maintained control over a Kingdom for as long as you have?"

Edgar maintained a calm countenance. After all, this was a diplomatic communique, even if the Imperial General didn't adhere to any of the unspoken rules. "I don't really see what that-"

"You are a King without a country. At this moment, your resources are non-existent. You have no army, no allies, not even transportation to cross the ocean!" Danielle gestured at the map. "And yet here you are with the gall to discuss terms to what should be seen as a gift!"

Edgar straightened, his regal stature towering over the Imperial General. "Perhaps you are overestimating the degree of help you can offer," he pointed out vaguely.

"And perhaps you are letting your pride get in the way of your Kingdom's survival. Really, King Edgar, the resources at your disposal are insufficient to even transport you across the ocean. The ships I'm offering alone -- considering that every vessel on this side of the ocean has been conscripted for the war -- should be more than enough incentive."

That had been unexpected. Edgar should have realized that the Empire would forcibly control all sea-worthy vessels during the Civil War.

"You're correct, General," Edgar began with as much kindness as he could muster. "This alliance is more than expected and a treaty between our two nations is everything I ever dreamed of," he paused for dramatic effect. "But let's be honest, Relm is a minor matter. If you're unwilling to share even that much," Edgar slammed his fist against the table. "I would rather let Daggart bleed you dry!"

Danielle leaned back and closed her eyes. She seemed to be thinking about his requests. One finger idly tapped the side of her chair while she thought; the rhythmic thumping was the only audible sound in the awkward silence.

"Very well," Danielle decided. "I will make a few concessions, but not regarding Relm. She stays here. I will not allow a child to be exposed to the dangers you will face, King Edgar. There is nowhere in the world safer than Tzen."

Before Edgar could respond, she interrupted him. "I will not change my mind about this. I have guaranteed her safety. You can accept this condition, or you may leave."

Edgar fumed secretly, enraged that he could do nothing. He began to genuinely consider leaving.

"However, as you said, we should trust each other. So I will offer you all the information I have on Terra and Locke's current situation."

That got the estranged King of Figaro's attention.

"As far as I know, your friends are safe. They are accompanying General Lilienthal in Alfort-Brougham."

"Albrook?" Edgar asked. He recognized the House of Lilienthal almost immediately. The head of the House was the Governor of Albrook, though he hadn't known that the same man was also a general in the army. That was not the problem though. "Why are they so far away?"

Danielle chuckled. "I sent them there as diplomats and they succeeded beyond my expectations," she explained.

At that moment, the door opened and in came waitresses of all shapes and sizes. They brought in a feast, many times more than what the two of them could have eaten. There was platter after platter of skillfully prepared shrimp, crab, lobster and fish from all four seas of the world. Aromas of spices and exotic fruits wafted into the room, and behind came crystal goblets filled with sparkling white wine.

The waitresses carefully rolled up the map. Danielle waved aside the girls carrying wine. While Edgar had not expected to be drinking, he would have been quite content with the proper vintage.

While they ate, Danielle explained how she had caught Locke, Terra and Relm. Edgar listened carefully as she recanted how Locke and Terra had been swayed to her cause. He was surprised at how easily Locke and Terra had agreed to help Danielle. It appeared to be an unequal deal, as Danielle only had to deliver the laryl.

Edgar doubted the General told him everything. He guessed many of the unspoken parts. No doubt Danielle had threatened Relm's life. It would explain why Relm was still in Tzen instead of being with Terra and Locke in Albrook. It would also explain why Locke would help an Imperial General and had yet to escape. While his underestimation of the Empire's capabilities had gotten everyone into trouble, he was quite... skilled. After years of working with the Returner, Edgar knew that vanishing from under the Empire's watchful eye was no challenge for Locke Cole.

The food grew cold and Edgar bored of the remaining shrimp. He took a sip of honeyed tea while Danielle attempted to gain his trust by recounting the war. Edgar had already deduced most of the details, but he specifically noted the names of her enemies. Danielle skimmed over the details of military action, but Edgar was satisfied merely with knowing the state of the Core. Everything she said matched the stories of the refugees. The only thing that surprised him were the detailed descriptions of formidable monsters, he had heard precious little from those fleeing the Civil War.

Danielle had deployed a generous portion of her military to hunt down the monster threat, even with her borders beleaguered. He scrutinized her as she spoke, weighing her mannerisms and tonality against the experience of years in the noble court. Danielle was born for war. An incredible leader who brilliance had defeated the Kingdom of Tzen, her strategic skills had not faded in a mere decade. Her patterns of speech were laden with double meaning, prudently judging each word before it was spoken. While she was no match for a linguistic master from Figaro, her experience in the Imperial political arena was apparent in everything she said.

Edgar considered his choices. Helping the Imperial and attaining a peace treaty while regaining the homeland of his father, it was almost too attractive. When considered against the other option, being executed along with Relm for crimes against the Empire...

Edgar frowned. Had Danielle threatened him? His mind spun as he tried to recall everything said. Not once had she threatened Relm's life, and to him was a thinly veiled reference. Certainly not what was expected, and it cast a different light on the Imperial General.

Danielle Meras was looking for allies, powerful ones that had proven themselves capable of overcoming indomitable odds. She was looking not just to rebuild, but to strengthen the Empire. Her loyalties did not lie with Gestahl nor Kefka, but with her country and its peoples. She was as devoted as General Leo, but was utterly ruthless in her approach.

He was sitting before someone that could, one day, lead the Empire.

The thought of that chilled Edgar to the bones.

"Why have you not contested the throne? Considering the degree of influence you wield, I would presume that your troops would have declared you the leader of the Empire; a de-facto Imperator of sorts," Edgar said between sips of tea.

"Your noble education would lead you to believe that civil wars are only fought for power, wouldn't they?" Danielle bantered without answering his question.

Yet Edgar could see what she was leading him towards. It was a dance of words to discern the sagacity of the other. "You have not given me a reason for three generals to conspire and then openly declare war on their own people. I suppose it is a bit harsh to assume that you are nothing more than a power-monger, but my dealings with the Empire have hardly led me to believe otherwise."

Danielle chuckled softly, but Edgar could tell it was forced and merely a show of politeness. For what reason, he could not imagine. There was something else hidden beneath rhetoric and carefully devised mannerisms.

"I do not intend on assuming the throne. This war revolved around the actions of a corrupt House of Lords, one that removed Emperor Gestahl from power and then put their puppet on the throne. It was merely bad luck that the Emperor died, or else he would be leading this war. A pretender to the throne cannot be ignored, King Edgar."

This time, there was no infliction or subtlety in her meaning.

"My men have no loyalty to Anson Tilton, he is a scientist and inventor, but no leader. It is not his place to command, nor the place of the House of Lords to remove our Lord and Emperor. This is a common sentiment throughout the Empire."

"Apparently not the Core," Edgar replied.

Danielle gaze hardened instantly. "You would do well to remember your place," she snapped without any change in the tone of her voice.

The look on Edgar's face was impassive. Not even a hint of a smile could be seen on his lips.

"Tilton betrayed the House of Lords and began what he called the Equality Crusade."

Edgar raised an eyebrow. It sounded quite similar to the Morality Crusade of Gestahl. Interesting, he thought. He quickly committed the name of Anson Tilton to memory.

"His men pillaged the nobility and his reforms left the Imperial treasury empty. People starve because of his shortsightedness, such as when he took grain supplies and used it to gain favor with the army instead. He made huge demands of Albrook and when they weren't met, he raided them. Now that it is winter, millions starve due to Tilton's actions. Even if our initial refusal of his ascension was hasty, there is no doubt in my heart, nor in the hundreds of thousands who follow me, that Tilton's reign must be ended. It is simply the right thing to do. That is why we're here today, King Edgar: to discuss the right thing."

Danielle's blue eyes judged him coldly. She slowly chewed on a morsel of spiced crab, deliberately taking her time as she sucked the flavor out of the meat. It was readily apparent by her expression that she would no longer discuss the civil war. She wanted an answer.

Edgar sighed. He really had no choice. The longer Daggart remained in power, the more difficult it would be to remove him from the throne. The sooner he returned to Figaro, the sooner he could gather those loyalists still alive to fight the errant Duke. His father would have done the same. Danielle was empowering him to save the lives of his countrymen both in the short-term and the long term. It was a deal that he could not ignore.

What harm could there be in accepting the Empire's assistance?

He knew the answer to that, and his mood soured even more. This woman had used his friends as tools of her own, threatening the life of a child in order to get her way. Now she was tempting him with everything he had ever wanted. He wanted to believe that she was benevolent, but...

But he needed her help.

"Fine," Edgar said at last, ignoring the voice of reason. "I'll help you."

Danielle gave him a small smile with her lips pressed tightly together. Edgar wondered if she was forcing the smile, or if she was trying to keep her joy from showing.

"You have chosen well, and I look forward to the day I will properly address you as King Edgar," she said with a wave of her hand. "I suggest you retire to your friends and explain to them the situation, I doubt they will see the bigger picture as easily as you have."

Edgar narrowed his eyes. "Excuse me?" he asked.

"Your friends," Danielle repeated. "Cyan the Relentless and the sage from Thamasa."

Edgar was not sure which was more surprising, what she had called Cyan or how much she knew of their activities.

"Although the sage might agree with your reasoning, the Relentless will probably live up to his name," Danielle continued. "He'll probably take quite a while to convince, even if you tell him of the lives you have saved with your decision today," she leaned back and finished her tea before continuing. "I'll send my men to retrieve you this evening," she said after deliberation. "Only a few soldiers though, I don't think it would be proper to scare the old librarian by showing up at his door with a full squadron."

Edgar felt a bead of sweat run down his back.

Danielle smiled pleasantly. "I'll see you this evening, King Edgar."

---

Locke forced himself to walk back inside the cave slowly and with some manner of dignity. He shook his head from side to side, snow falling down from his white cloak, as he tried not to show how cold he really was.

"Well?" Sherwood asked with a smirk on his face.

Locke glared at Sherwood. The dark-haired Imperial soldier was giving him an irritating quizzical look.

"It's a nightmare out there," Locke sighed.

"Colonel Ferdinand expected as much," Sherwood said while he stroked his beard.

It was strange how Norris' men acted around him. When he was within earshot, the men would use his first-name and act as if there was no rank difference between them. The moment Norris was gone though, he was Colonel Ferdinand again. It was the opposite of what Locke had expected and he found it incredibly peculiar.

They had wandered across the cave the day before, and not a moment too soon. The winter storms that Norris had warned them about were ferocious and intense. The winds cut through their cloaks and froze their leather armor, making it torturous to travel the mountain trails. Snow fell in great heaps and winds were fiercer with every passing hour. Soon, they could see no more than ten paces ahead.

Even Terra, bundled within her silks and the warm embrace of a wolf mantle, was shivering uncontrollably by the time Clarkson had found the cave. Nestled safely deep within the Strachan Mountains, they had retrieved firewood from their packs and warmed themselves with a hearty campfire. Ifrit still hung from Locke's neck, and the former fiery Esper's skills had been more than up to the task of searing away its eternal foe.

"The storm continues to rage," Sherwood declared when they returned to where they had camped. Although it was close to the entrance of the cave, it was also down a passage that twisted and turned many times. The result was a small bit of light from the entrance but none of the frigid air.

Norris chuckled softly. "Like I said Locke, the storm will last probably a good while longer. You should not question my abilities."

Locke shrugged. "I didn't realize you learned spells to tell the weather. I'm sure they're really useful," he grumbled sarcastically.

"Not magic," Norris gave him a wrinkled grin. "Just the wisdom of many winters."

Locke scoffed as he took a seat next to a pile of blackened logs. They had not bothered with the campfire after the first few hours. Norris had taught Terra how to keep their clothes warm with the use of magic, and the two had gone about enchanting their garments. Locke had tried to cast the spell too, but he just didn't seem to grasp the concept. He simply couldn't control the magic and ended up with a beginner's fireball. Norris had suggested Locke try to warm a stone first, and when the pebble had glowed dangerously red for the umpteenth time, Locke gave up.

While Norris left to speak with some of his men, Locke made himself comfortable against the cavern walls. They were frozen to the touch, but it was nothing his spelled tunic could not mitigate. He ignored his sore back and bandaged ribs thanks to the encounter with the behemoth. From within his pocket he retrieved a small piece of wood; something he had picked up a few days ago. He began to whittle away with his knife while he thought about what he should carve.

Time passed quickly as Locke shaped the wood into the rough form of a figurine. He enjoyed the feel of working with his hands, letting him pass the time while also being productive. It also let him forget how poorly he fared against the behemoth.

"Locke," Clarkson waved at the self-styled treasure hunter. Though he was amongst the shortest of Norris' handpicked men, he was still taller than Locke and quite a bit beefier. "Norris is gathering everyone at his tent. We're being briefed."

Locke nodded and brushed the wood shavings off his clothes. He slipped the piece of timber back into his pocket and followed Clarkson deeper into the cave. They were a small group, thirteen in total, and everyone was waiting for Locke and Clarkson's arrival.

"And so they finally show up," Norris said from the center of the circle. "Take a seat and I'll finally reveal to you the reason why we're suffering like this." He waited until all were settled and their attentions on him. "I don't normally keep you guys out of the loop like this, but it was the General's orders."

Miles, the second-highest ranking officer and the unofficial speaker of the group, nodded. "Don't worry sir, we didn't mind at all."

Norris smiled. "As you all know, we're headed to Fanshaw." There were a few nods accompanied by grim faces. "I could tell you that much because the General didn't see any reason why our destination had to be kept in the dark. That and the smart ones could have figured it out, not you Gossman, but at least Sherwood and Miles."

There was laughter and a few of the men slapped Gossman on the back.

"Now Fanshaw isn't just deep in the Core. Miles, you were stationed there a few years ago. Everyone else has passed through once or twice. You should all have an idea of what to expect, but the Major here give you the ten-second summary of our target."

Miles was a heavily muscled man that reminded Locke of Danielle's bodyguards, Valerio and Baldric. He had lost his left eye in a heroic act to save a comrade's life once, and the stories of the soldier's selfless acts were told with awe. Locke had heard a few from Anthony, the soldier that had bandaged his ribs after the behemoth's demise.

"Fanshaw is built like a castle," Miles began. "There are no tunnels or sewage drains that go underground; it's built on top of mountain bedrock. The walls are higher than anything aside from those of the Imperial Palace. There is a quality garrison there as well, men with experience guarding the border against anything that might come from the mountains. If we're going to be sneaking in, it will be a challenge."

Norris waited until everyone had digested the facts before continuing. "Now if you remember anything farther back than three months ago, you'll remember the Magitek Factory scandal with the rebels." There was a chorus of heads nodding up and down, and Locke averted his eyes considering his involvement. "When Tilton was put in charge of the labs, he instituted a variety of surprising changes. He's a smart one, devious and clever, and began the construction of an ambitious weapon."

Locke blinked. He swore Danielle had said something about a new weapon.

"The Aegis?" it was Sherwood who asked.

Norris shook his head. "No, that was one of his sane ideas and now nearly all Magitek pilots owe him their lives."

"Aegis?" Locke repeated in confusion.

"The name for the clear enclosure," Sherwood replied. "You have seen an Armor before, haven't you?"

"I've never seen any glass on any Magitek," Locke replied. "Doesn't sound very safe."

Sherwood shook his head. "It's not glass, it's just transparent. It protects the pilot from arrows," he explained. "I'm surprised you haven't seen them, they're practically everywhere now. You can't pierce the shield with a short-bow unless you're stronger than-"

Norris cut Sherwood off with a grunt. "You'll see them soon enough, Locke," he said. "And while the Aegis is a problem, it's nothing like Project Camiel. What we're handling is far more dangerous; like comparing a candle to the sun."

Norris readjusted his seat, smoothing out his pants and giving everyone time for his words to sink in. Although Locke and Terra did not see the significance of Norris' words, the soldiers did. They had dealt with the Aegis-enhanced Magitek armors and knew how incredibly dangerous the simple enclosure had made the machinations. If their commander considered the Aegis insignificant in the face of whatever existed in Fanshaw...

"Details are highly classified, and even the General doesn't know everything," Norris continued. "The weapon is an enhancement to the Magitek armors though, like everything Tilton has ever dreamed up. Although it was not yet functional when our last reports came from the Capital, that situation may have changed in the last couple months. General Lilienthal feels we cannot allow this weapon to continue development in Fanshaw for any longer."

"Unfortunately," Norris sighed, "if an army even remotely approaches Fanshaw, then Tilton will merely move his weapon somewhere else. Either that or we'll be the first demonstration of the destructive potential of Project Camiel. Since neither is a choice the General willing to chance, we're going to personally take care of the development labs and all the scientists working on the project."

"What is it exactly?" Clarkson asked. The shortest soldier was sitting closest to Norris.

"I don't know. But it was designed to make the Guardian obsolete. I don't think I have to elaborate."

The Guardian was the newest prototype Magitek Armor that simply dwarfed every other Armor in existence. The guns mounted to it had been numerous, and it had massive cannons on the front that turned it into a walking siege platform. It was completely shielded in thick metal armor, capable of turning aside even elemental weaponry. Locke had seen the machine defending the Imperial Palace before. Still in the experimental stages, great cables had been strung from the underground power facilities of Vector and attached to its mighty arms, feeding beam cannons directly.

It was the greatest war machine in existence. To make the Guardian obsolete would require the creation of a weapon unimaginable.

Locke's nod of understanding accompanied the nervous chuckles of the soldiers. Their faces were grim as they understood exactly how important their mission was. The lives of many of their friends depended on this weapon being destroyed.

"Why Fanshaw?" Clarkson, the blond-haired soldier that had guarded Terra throughout Albrook, frowned. "It's far to the south, away from the heartland and even further from the Magitek Labs."

"Anson Tilton was born in Fanshaw," Norris answered. "He has many loyalists there as well as a personal laboratory dating back several years. The location is perfect for developing a top-secret weapon like this."

"How exactly are we going to destroy something that we know nothing about?" Terra asked. While Norris' threat was no longer on her mind, his presence was a constant reminder that her hesitation had nearly killed Locke. She preferred avoiding him when possible, but the description of their mission didn't make any sense. Remiel had told her nothing about this. When would she be helping the citizens that needed her?

Locke grimaced. He had an idea how they were going to stop Project Camiel.

Norris gave Terra a thin smile, his lips pressed so tightly together that they were almost white. His expression was all the answer they needed. It was the pained look of a man that had borne too much responsibility for too many years of his life.

The Empire would do what it did best, as it had done in the past to Doma, South Figaro, Castle Figaro, and attempted twice in Narshe. Only this time, Locke and Terra were no longer on the receiving end. No matter what kind of reasoning was behind their assault -- destroying the weapon would help not just Lilienthal and his armies, but the entire world -- they would become the very thing they hated.

Terra went white when she realized what Norris had not said. "I was told this mission was going to help people, not kill them," she whispered.

Some of the soldiers exchanged uneasy looks with each other. Even had they not been told that Terra was a powerful Magitek Knight specifically chosen by Lilienthal for their mission, they were few enough that one person's anxiety could cause the entire mission to end in failure.

"We are helping," Norris' voice was lifeless. "Their deaths will prevent Project Camiel from ever bearing fruit. That would save thousands of lives directly, and perhaps indirectly end the Civil War sooner."

Terra couldn't bear to look at Norris anymore. She was being used as an assassin! How could this have happened?

Norris' attention lingered on Terra for a moment longer. "Now get some rest," he said as he turned away. "Fanshaw is only two days march from here and the storm will end tonight. Be prepared to move out; we've already wasted enough time."

---

Cyan and Strago took it much better than Edgar had expected.

Admittedly, they did threaten to skin him alive and let him bleed to death. They also stormed out of Lowell's house enraged after nearly coming to blows. In the end though, they settled down and stopped cursing every time they spoke his name.

Though they were angry at Edgar's actions, Strago and Cyan were more than happy that Relm, Terra and Locke were alive. Strago was especially ecstatic that his granddaughter was not just alive, but in the city as well. Even the fact that she was in the hands of Imperial soldiers did not detract from that simple relief.

Cyan was suspicious of Edgar's source of information, and his suspicions did not pass even when Edgar explained why he believed Danielle was telling the truth. Edgar judiciously spoke ill of Danielle and tried to appeal to Cyan's hatred of the Empire. He referred to her as depraved, devious and scheming, thus leading to a conclusion that she would not bother with pleasantries. If their friends were dead, she would simply tell them so. If they did not cooperate, she would just threaten to kill them and Relm.

That did not bolster his decision to help the General though; indeed it had the opposite, though delayed, effect.

But after many hours, Edgar managed to convince Strago and Cyan to put on a friendly facade for their visitors that night. Strago was willing, especially after Edgar explained the situation and their lack of options, to pretend that they were happy to help the Empire. Strago was going to voice some conditions -- seeing Relm in person and a personal guarantee of his granddaughter's safety -- but he was mostly acquiescent.

Cyan was willing to let the soldiers live, for now.

Edgar understood Cyan's reluctance. Considering his history with the Empire, it was difficult for Cyan to believe that any part of the Empire could be benevolent. In his mind, the entire situation was a trap deviously crafted to end with their deaths and the Empire's rule. To imagine that the Empire would wish to assist Edgar in taking back his kingdom to ensure peace between the two powers, it was beyond lunacy. The Empire existed solely to conquer other kingdoms. Edgar was being tricked by a wolf in sheepskin, and Cyan would not have any part in such unbelievable stupidity.

A part of Edgar believed the same. He knew the risks. There had been very little else on his mind all day. He had come to the conclusion that even if Danielle planned treachery, she would not strike until Daggart was disposed. However, if she moved then, Edgar would have the army protect them. Certainly it was a better option than three tired men in the midst of an Imperial Capital city.

To say that their dinner was awkward was an understatement. Edgar felt terrible about how they treated Lowell. They were horrible guests and Edgar apologized as such. He also explained to the old librarian that they would be leaving that night, and that they appreciated all that he had done for them.

Lowell just smiled and thanked Edgar again for his efforts, and those of the Returners.

Five soldiers were their escort. Edgar noticed immediately that the men were all heavily armed and wore plated mail. They were all extremely experienced, beyond veteran. Men like these were the cream of the crop and worth fifty times their number.

The man in charge introduced himself as Brigadier-General Farin Starson. He shook hands with Edgar and seemed to be friendly. The rank implied that he was probably second only to Danielle, though Edgar wondered how someone so prominent could have been assigned to escort duty. No matter how important the three of them were to Danielle's goals, it made no sense to have a Brigadier shepherd enemies of the Empire.

Unless Danielle felt the five men were more than a match for the three of them, Edgar realized. Knowing her aptitude at collecting information, Edgar wondered if their escort could actually be their equals. It was very possible given the quality of the guards, and certainly the kind of subtle action Danielle would take.

Edgar chuckled softly to himself. An unlikely coincidence this was, to meet the very man whose name struck such fear into the mansion guards. The blond-haired girl had said that Farin Starson was incredibly dangerous with his swords and had a short temper. Edgar decided that it was in everyone's best interests if Cyan and Farin did not speak.

They quickly strolled through the near-empty streets of Tzen; there was a curfew in place. Edgar assumed they were headed in the direction of the Zarren, the great river that ran north of Tzen and made its way towards the ocean. That river was the reason why Tzen was so important to the coastal defense of the Empire. With a huge port that was protected from the vicious seas, Tzen was the launching point of any major fleet.

Farin Starson actually tried to make conversation with the three Returners, though by Edgar's subtlety he never spoke with the brooding Cyan. Eventually, Strago entertained the General while they walked, ignorant of the man's reputation. Edgar remained deep in his own conflicted thoughts.

The harbor was busy when they arrived. Hundreds of men were working underneath the moonlit sky, lanterns carried by hand dancing amongst the great port like fireflies, as they prepared for the departure of five monstrous warships. Edgar counted at least another dozen battleships of the same size, their broadsides bristling with well over a hundred cannons each. By Danielle's recounting, the Imperial Navy had been mostly demolished by the Floating Continent's crash into the ocean, but obviously that had not been the whole truth. Or perhaps the Empire had been very busy rebuilding their fleet.

There were at least another ten ships of the line, slightly smaller than the triple-decked warships that were being prepared at the moment. Edgar could see many other vessels suited as convoy escorts, scouts or patrol ships. The frigates were too numerous to count and it did not help that Edgar could not see the entirety of the great harbor.

It was a tremendous collection of naval power. Fleet action with any similar foe would take days to resolve, and Edgar wondered how Figaro could possibly be a danger to Danielle if she had this kind of navy at her beck and call. They had never been capable of building such numbers of battleships. The facilities for such an endeavor simply weren't there.

Regardless of the trivial nature of his mission, it appeared that Farin Starson was well-known and suffered no loss of dignity. Within seconds of their arrival at the port, men that had been too busy to wipe the sweat from their brow went out of their way to thank the General. Word quickly spread of Brigadier Starson's arrival and before long, Edgar could make out two giant men making their way through the crowd.

Valerio and his twin, Edgar presumed. That meant that she was here as well.

The man on Edgar's left, his head shaven bald but his chin sporting a great beard, headed in the direction of the two bodyguards. Edgar exchanged a worried look Strago and Cyan, the latter glowering at the Imperial Army's presence.

That attitude was noticed by their escorts. One in particular, who was also had his head shaven bald but was clean-shaven, kept a close eye on the Doma Knight. The Brigadier noticed as well, but chose to ignore it. Edgar could feel the confidence emanating from the warrior general.

Flanked by her two bodyguards, Danielle arrived to meet them. Edgar's jaw dropped when he noticed whose hand she was holding.

"Relm!" Strago exclaimed.

"Fussy old man!" Relm cried back.

Strago grimaced, but that was soon lost as Relm jumped into his arms. Strago laughed wholeheartedly, his joy infectious as even Cyan smiled upon seeing the family reunion.

"I thought he might want to see his granddaughter," Danielle said quietly.

Edgar turned around. The General had snuck behind him without his notice, a smile on her face as she gestured at the grandfather struggling to deal with his grandchild. Relm was in fine form, teasing both Strago and Cyan with her usual barbs.

"That's thoughtful of you," Edgar replied as he tried to stifle the cocky comments that came to mind.

Danielle chuckled lightly as she watched Relm gesture at Cyan's hair. "I presume you have convinced your friends?"

Edgar laughed out loud, but it was unnoticed as everyone had their eyes still on the reunion. "In a manner of speaking, yes. I did not expect to be leaving tonight though," he said quietly.

"And why would you assume that the preparations of these ships are for you, King Edgar?"

Again, that annoying way of pronouncing his title. Edgar barely stopped himself from scowling. "You don't have to test my mettle, General Meras. I am neither blind nor am I dimwitted."

Danielle raised her eyebrows. "Oh?" she replied. "Then I'll admit you're correct."

"You're sending quite the escort for me though," Edgar said.

"Two ships of the line and a scouting curtain?" Danielle asked. "You certainly have a strange way of expressing confidence in the quality of the Ethelben Ship Yards."

Edgar scoffed. He had thought all ten battleships were his escort, but he was not going to admit his error now. "I have an inflated view of your ships from seeing them in action. It's a different world, being on the other end of the targeting sights."

Danielle chuckled softly. "You were not lying about your quick wit."

Before Edgar could respond, Farin interrupted them. "Danielle," he said. "They are ready to receive passengers."

Danielle's face took on a serious look immediately, the hard edge that Edgar had forgotten about instantly returning to her expression. "Prepare him," she said crisply.

Farin left without saluting.

"It appears preparations are complete. If you and your friends would follow me, there are a few things all three of you must know and I would rather tell you now, while there is time," Danielle held out a hand. "This way, King Edgar."

---

They passed by one the biggest of the warships docked in the harbor. Huge flags bearing the standard of the Empire flew from the masts, leaving Edgar no doubts that it was anything but Danielle's flagship. It was massive, with four decks of deadly cannons ready for action, and had hundreds of men preparing the ship for her voyage.

Their destination was a small cabin near the center of the port. They were led by her two huge bodyguards and flanked by three of Farin's soldiers; one had been tasked with returning Relm to the mansion. Considering their situation, Edgar felt strange that they were not being led into the dungeons. Or since they were near so many vessels, Edgar corrected himself, sent to below decks and chained to the oars.

Danielle waited until everyone was seated comfortably and the soldiers were positioned at the door. The cabin was a single room, boxes of supplies haphazardly stacked against the walls with a desk set in the center. "I'm sure King Edgar," she spoke his title without her usual inflection, "has already told you why he has agreed to cooperate. Since I will not be going personally to oversee your success, there will be a few clarifications."

Cyan folded his arms. The gaze in his eyes was deadly.

Danielle did not wither under that murderous rage but instead shot a glare at Edgar. Apparently, she was unhappy. Edgar shrugged back nonchalantly.

"You will be on the lead ship, the Tiernay. I have given King Edgar overall command of the fleet. However, that can be instantly revoked and the Captain has orders to throw you in the brig if you abuse your position," Danielle explained. "One of the most dangerous tasks will be to land upon the shores of Figaro. King Edgar, I have no doubt that with your capable command and the quality of our vessels, you will easily accomplish that goal."

Edgar swallowed. Now he wished he had paid more attention when he was being tutored naval warfare.

"To completely ensure that this mission is without trouble, I am sending a personal advisor. Overseeing your actions shall be Valerio."

The statue of a man folded his arms behind Danielle.

"He will be on the Diodorus along with one of my best Admirals," Danielle continued. "They will keep on eye on you, Edgar," Her tone grew harsh. "I don't have to explain the consequences should you choose to neglect your duties."

She referred to Relm of course. It was about time she threatened the little girl's life, and it made Edgar feel strangely comfortable. Finally, Danielle had shown her true colours.

At that moment, Farin Starson entered the cabin with little ceremony. He tilted his head slightly and Danielle nodded in response. The dangerous Brigadier-General leaned against the wall. Edgar observed that Farin's hands remained near his sword the entire time. The General hid his intentions behind a thick grey cloak, but Edgar was not fooled.

"You should know that one of the vessels assigned to the scouting curtain holds someone that you might take exception to," Danielle said. A deadly smile came to her face. "Consider it a gift from me; a small reward for your cooperation and a reminder that I am not your enemy."

Edgar narrowed his eyes. "What?"

Danielle leaned back in her chair. "Aboard the sloop of war is former Major Ethan Nairne. I believe you have reason to know him quite well."

Edgar nearly shot out of his chair and would have succeeded had it not been for one of the soldiers forcing him down. "That bastard?!" he shouted. "You would have us work with him?"

While Strago was confused, Cyan's murderous rage was strengthened ten-fold. He was not directing that anger at Danielle anymore though, despite his gaze still being in her direction.

Ethan Nairne had been one of Kefka's closest and most trusted officers. He had been in command of the Imperial Guard that had protected Gestahl on the Floating Continent, but that had not been the reason why Edgar and Cyan hated the man.

Their hatred of Nairne was second only to Kefka, for the Major had been in command of the Imperial attack on South Figaro. Nairne had been Kefka's loyal dog, the man that took orders blindly and was always behind the scenes accomplishing what Kefka had deemed to be beneath him. While his General had been overseeing the poisoning of Doma, Nairne had lured Celes to South Figaro without the protection of her loyal battalions. Then he stripped of her rank, tortured, and almost executed her for crimes she never committed.

But that was only the tip of the iceberg. Though only Locke had seen Celes in her condition within the secret dungeons beneath South Figaro, Cyan and Edgar had been privy to her sorrowful tale. Shortly after her ordeal, Celes had withdrawn emotionally. Her world had been turned upside-down and the Empire she served had betrayed her. Cyan had treated Celes like a daughter and eventually she had revealed everything to him.

As for Edgar, the moment he met her he had been afraid that beneath the cold detachment, Celes was unstable, depressive and suicidal. He had also tried to calm her down in his own fashion. Edgar had always had a way with women, and though it took him a while, he coaxed the story out of her. Between her tortured sobs, labored breaths and tears of grief, the two men had heard what Nairne had done to her.

Edgar's eyes were ice cold as he glared at Danielle. "You-"

"-have not yet executed him," Danielle interrupted him. She smiled slightly when he saw that he was caught off-balance. "I do not execute people that may still serve some use, and even Ethan Nairne was not an exception."

Cyan was confused as much as Edgar was. Both men lost their righteous rage as they tried to comprehend what Danielle was telling them.

"Nairne will be aboard one of the most expendable vessels in the history of the Empire. When his airship crashed within my territory, most of his men were killed. Those that survived will also be on that frigate, though many of them are missing limbs and other crucial parts," Danielle explained without emotion. "I trust you will put that vessel to good use, Edgar."

Edgar nodded, though he had no intention of being so barbaric.

"About my granddaughter," Strago interrupted.

Danielle turned to the sage. "She will be treated with more respect than a princess," she answered. "But she will stay here in Tzen."

"A prisoner," Strago frowned.

"A safe, highly valued friend of the Empire," Danielle gestured dramatically with her hands. "Your journey is dangerous. You will venture across a treacherous ocean and into a Kingdom where you will incite a counter-revolution. I cannot, in good conscience, let her go with you."

Strago frowned. "This is-"

"I give you my word she will be unharmed. I even brought her here tonight as a gesture of good faith. The Empire holds no animosity to the people of Thamasa, and her presence stems from my own instinct to protect a defenseless child," Danielle tapped a finger on her desk. "If you have a safer place for her to be, tell me and I'll make arrangements."

"Thamasa, send her back home," Strago answered immediately.

"I don't have the men to spare or the ships available. I am fighting a war, Strago Magus. This also ignores the fact that sailing the seas is incredibly dangerous ever since the Floating Continent fell. Between that and the civil war, Tzen is the safest place your granddaughter can be," Danielle concluded.

Strago was silent for a while, contemplating the General's words. He nodded slowly, muttering to himself about landmasses and tidal displacement. Finally, Strago sighed dramatically. "I see your point," he pretended to relent. He had gotten everything he expected.

"And perhaps after helping King Edgar with his situation, I can assist you with something else that has been bothering you."

"What would that be?" Strago asked, cautious but curious.

A thin grin was on Danielle's face. "The Statues, of course."

Edgar hid his surprise well, but the look on Strago's face spoke volumes.

"You..." Strago started.

"Yes, I know of them. I would like to offer you the assistance you will need to correct the balance."

Edgar suddenly realized that she had tipped her hand. She was power-hungry. She wanted their trust so that she could take the power for herself. This was a deal with the devil.

"I'll... think about it," Strago stuttered, utterly confused by what had happened.

"Very good," Danielle said with a wave of her hand. "Then we have no more to discuss. Valerio, take-"

"Stop," Cyan interrupted.

Everyone's attention focused on the Doma Knight.

Cyan folded his arms and redirected his lethal gaze towards Danielle again. "I do not intend on boarding a ship for Figaro, nor do I intend on ever assisting the Empire."

Danielle's eyes flickered to Edgar for the briefest of moments.

"I will not help King Edgar. I belong here, regardless of thy consent, and shalt protect Relm and ensure her safety. I do not trust you or thy honeyed-tongue," Cyan finished dangerously. No one could ignore the threatening tone of his voice.

One of the soldiers guarding the door to the cabin drew his sword.

Danielle held up a hand. At the same time, Farin shouted an order for the soldier to replace his sword. Cyan remained motionless, despite the threat behind him. His aggressive attentions remained on the red-haired General, who had leaned back in her chair and was apparently considering his words. While she thought, her hands traced elliptical patterns upon the side of her chair.

Edgar was in disbelief. Cyan had not hinted at his intentions, and Edgar had thought the knight would never act so irrationally. If Danielle refused, what would Cyan do? Fight his way to Relm? This was an extremely delicate situation and his selfish actions could lead to Relm's death, to say nothing of their own.

Cyan Garamonde was risking everything!

"What are doing Cyan?" Edgar whispered through clenched teeth.

On the opposite side, Strago subtly evaluated their odds of survival.

"A creature not of logic, but of emotion," Danielle mused. Her quietude was a stark contrast to the wrath of Cyan Garamonde. "Intelligence was wrong. You, Knight of Doma, are not a credit to your people. You bring shame upon all who followed you."

Cyan took the bait without hesitation, his exotic longsword drawn in a heartbeat. The action was expected everyone in the room. Valerio and his twin had battle-axes at hand a heartbeat after Cyan, and the ringing of four more swords being drawn added to the symphony of steel. Edgar and Strago had both risen to their friend's defense, but they were both unarmed.

Edgar felt shivers run down his spine. His spear lay against a pile of boxes, but it was too far away. There was no chance he could stand and retrieve his weapon before being cut down. He didn't know what Strago could do, but he seriously doubted even a descendant of the Mage Warriors could affect the outcome by more than one cadaver. Sweat dripped down his back as the minutes passed quietly. The cabin was surprisingly isolated from the outside world, not a sound from the docks could be heard.

Surrounded by deadly blades, as well as the guarantee that both Valerio and his twin could hold long enough for Farin and his soldiers to stab him in the back, Cyan paused. He was biding his time.

"Motivated by pride and vanity, only the argument of the sword can speak to him," Danielle tapped at her mahogany desk. The rhythmic thumping of her finger was the only sound in the room.

Danielle's finger continued to tap in the tense silence. Cyan's eyes flickered from side to side. The dangerous look on his face, the grinding of his teeth, and the white knuckles around the hilt of his sword told Edgar that the situation was moments from becoming very bloody. Cyan was ready to pounce the moment anyone's guard dropped. From the looks on the Imperial men's faces, that wouldn't happen anytime within the hour.

Her finger stopped tapping. Edgar tensed.

Deadly blue eyes regarded Cyan Garamonde. "I do not see the use of a man like you on this mission. Your stubbornness and imprudence would only endanger everyone else. Your reluctance is expected after considering your reputation," Danielle started.

She was going to execute him. Edgar could see it in her eyes: Imperial to the core.

"You ignore the needs of your own allies, blinded by hatred. Furthermore, you aspire to nothing more than the murder of Imperial men and women," Danielle continued.

Edgar readied himself. They would fight and die together. After all, he could not stand by and let Cyan be cut down. How could he return to claim leadership over his people if he was such an immoral soul?

How could he throw his life away for nothing, when his people were being subjugated by a bloodthirsty usurper?

"I would not allow you aboard an Imperial vessel even if you wished it," Danielle pointed at Cyan. "You are a deadly danger to my people. A creature like you might bring harm upon innocents. I will not let that happen."

"You dare insinuate that?" Cyan growled.

It was clear to Edgar that Danielle did not intend on executing Cyan. That gave him some hope, but if this was Danielle was being diplomatic, Edgar did not want to know how she threatened her enemies.

"I think the only solution here is a promise, sworn on nothing less than your dead wife and son, that you will not harm any of my people." Noting that Cyan was about to respond, she raised her voice, "in return, I will let you see Relm unfettered."

That silenced him, but only for a moment.

"There is more to this," Cyan said. "Treachery is in your blood, Imperial."

"There are restrictions, yes. I won't let you stay with Relm, but I will let you see her once a day; under guard of course. She's my insurance that you won't break the terms of our bargain."

"And what guarantees your terms?" Cyan replied back. The grip on his sword had relaxed, but the anger in the tone of his voice remained.

Danielle smiled. "Nothing. You will get nothing better from me, and this deal could get quite worse."

Edgar could see that Cyan had calmed down, but was unwilling to commit. He saw his chance to negotiate and jumped in. "Wait a minute," Edgar spoke up. "Cyan, enough! You've gotten your wish!"

Cyan shot a glare at Edgar.

"She's already given you everything you asked for," Edgar faced his friend eye-to-eye. "What could you accomplish by swinging your sword now? We'll die right here, tonight! It might not be right now, perhaps not even in this room, but there are thousands of Imperial soldiers in this city. You kill her, and the best we can hope is for Relm to be crying at the news that both you and her grandfather are dead." He put a hand on Cyan's shoulder. "I don't have to elaborate on the worse case scenario."

Cyan sighed deeply. He broke eye contact with Edgar and turned back to Danielle.

"You have your promise, Imperial. Mark my words, if you do not hold your end of the bargain, you will rue the day you crossed Cyan Garamonde," Cyan sheathed his sword in one smooth motion, somehow still imparting a deadly threat with that act.

Danielle sank back into her chair and said nothing in response.

Edgar turned back towards Danielle. "Now is everything settled?" he asked.

Farin and his men replaced their swords. Between the sound of steel and the look on Danielle's face, it was obvious that everything was most certainly not settled. This night would not be forgotten.

A period of silence, and then Danielle spoke at last. "Farin, get them out of my sight."

---

They had been led to the Diodorus and the Tiernay without ceremony. Farin left them and stepped on board the lead ship, intending to make a few final checks and to introduce Edgar to the Captain of the Tiernay. Soldiers stood guard off to the side, respectfully out of earshot.

The docks were still busy; giant cranes could be seen loading cargo onto several of the larger warships off in a distance. But Edgar, Cyan and Strago found themselves isolated at the very edge of a pier. They brooded quietly, each was thinking about the events that had transpired that night.

"Strago," Cyan said at last. "I should apologize. It should not be I keeping your granddaughter company."

Strago stopped staring into the vast waters of the Zarren River. "It's alright Cyan. I know your heart was in the right place. It worried me that Relm would be staying here alone anyhow, having you by her side comforts me greatly."

"That is not what I meant," Cyan pointed out.

"Of course, but it's what I see," Strago replied. He forced himself to smile. "I feel much better knowing Relm is in your hands. The greatest of the Knights of Doma protecting my granddaughter, if that doesn't bring relief to these old bones then nothing will."

Cyan forced a smile.

"Anyhow, now I can help our royal friend to the best of my abilities. No preoccupations."

"I'm sorry that I brought this mess into our lives," Edgar sighed.

"I think we came out on top really," Strago mused. "My granddaughter is safe. We know Terra and Locke are fine as well. Somehow, we've gotten the Empire to foot the bill so that we can get back to the Northern Continent. They'll even provide an escort for us. It seems like everything worked out for the best." He was trying to convince himself of the words he spoke.

Cyan folded his arms. "Both of you will be in peril. Coups are bloody, dangerous things," he said gruffly.

Edgar could see that Cyan felt terrible for abandoning them. It had been his hatred of the Empire that made him refuse the mission, not his unwillingness to help. "You'll be surrounded by Imperials, alone. Strago and I will be together, and in the worst case, surrounded by my countrymen. I don't envy you in the slightest."

"It doesn't matter. Nothing will happen to Relm, you have my word. My life before hers," Cyan promised.

"Very well," Edgar replied. "And in the meantime, you can keep a close eye on Meras and her cronies. I don't think they'll try anything, but I wouldn't put anything past an Imperial. The moment you hear anything, you and Relm better get out of there. Just go into hiding somewhere out of the way like Nestil. There's a civil war going on and I doubt that they'll have the resources necessary to track you down."

"And we'll be back," Strago pointed out. "Hopefully with a King's escort."

"More," Edgar lowered his voice. "Whatever the outcome, the Empire will not be able to ignore the strength of the Northern Continent. We managed to land troops and enter Vector during the height of Imperial power! I'd dare say we'll a match for whatever stumbles out of this war."

There was still an uncomfortable air that remained between the three men. Cyan cleared his throat. "I..."

"Cyan," Edgar interrupted. "Stop worrying about us. What we're going to do will require subtlety. I'm sorry old friend," his lip curled up in a devious smile. "Subtlety just isn't your strong point."

Strago chuckled softly, and Edgar couldn't help but join in. Their combined laughter was infectious; Cyan found himself laughing as well. The stress and frustration that had been built up over the past weeks melted away. Their situation was a serious matter but compared to the dilemma they had faced just one week earlier, it was straightforward.

The laughter did something else too. All their recent arguments, differences and fights were now forgiven. Without addressing it, grudges that might have stood as a wedge between them disappeared. They forgave the curses, overlooked the injustices, and made sure any lasting resentment vanished.

The same goofy grin could be seen on each man's face. They were not mere associates, not just allies, but friends. Nothing would ever change that.  



	11. Before the Gates

**The Eleventh Chapter - Before the Gates**

The mountains of Strachan were like a frozen wasteland. The winter blizzards had been relentless in their fury. As if the clouds had a mind of their own, the storms raged and attempted to entrap them deep within their frigid grasp. The freezing winds forced them to seek shelter deep within the mountainside, where the cavern they used as shelter had almost become permanent. Snow had sealed the entrance and without the spells of Norris and Terra, it was an impossible barrier to breach.

When they had decided to continue their journey, they had been extremely lucky. Their spells of fire had not set off an avalanche that might have made their situation worse. "It had been a calculated risk," Norris defended himself. "The slight possibility of an avalanche or freezing to death, the choice was an easy one."

After that, caves were never used as camp. They slept near what meagre shelter they could find, but generally they slept out in the open where strong winds would tear their tents apart. In order to leave the mountains as soon as they could, they travelled farther south than originally intended. It took three more nights, nights that were spent without fire for the fear of being spotted in the darkness. Snow continued to fall without fail, and though their cloaks were spelled, it made little difference. Sometimes they would wake up in the night, the warmth spells melting just enough snow to form a thin crust of ice. Other times they would wake up nearly buried, their miniscule shelter blown away in the night and sentries unable to fix it.

The forest of Fanshaw was no more compassionate. Though the storms had calmed down, the snow was deep and the going treacherous. The snow was deep enough to swallow a man alive and had they not been spelled by Norris and Terra, they would have been swimming their way through the powder. Still, no matter how bad the forests were, Locke was glad to be away from the Strachan Mountains. He cursed the uncaring peaks as they had left them, grumbling to himself that he would never enter anything of the sort ever again.

On morning of their second day trekking through the woods, Norris split their tiny group into three teams. One group traveled ahead of the others, scouting for any potential sentries or patrols from Fanshaw. The other two would follow some distance back, close enough to help the team at the front, but far enough to escape if the situation became dire. In that manner, they were to reach the fortress city in four days.

Perhaps it was their preparation, but they did not encounter a single patrol the second day. They had not seen a single soul. Locke did not have to ask Norris about the situation, it was obvious that the mission was going too smoothly. He had visited the Empire many times himself. If he could count on the Empire doing one thing right, it was regular patrols. It took careful planning and coordination in order to sneak into any Imperial base and considering the type of city Fanshaw was, the fact that they had encountered no one was a disturbing sign.

The next day they started early with the same careful scouting technique. It was midday when they encountered it.

Gossman returned alone. The unassuming dark-haired man was like a ghost, suddenly appearing out of the underbrush without a sound. Flakes of snow fluttered to the ground as he strode directly to Norris.

Something about his attitude made Locke expect the worse. His eyes narrowed as he judged the cold, hardened expression on Gossman's face.

Gossman spoke in a hushed tone, so that only Norris could hear. Locke could guess what had happened by the darkening look on Norris face though. It was likely they had found something dangerous or tragic.

When the two men finished talking, Norris silently motioned to Clarkson and two others. He gave the men orders and the soldiers departed with Gossman in the lead.

"Anthony, head along the river. We'll meet you south of the ford, by the ruins," Norris said. He turned to Locke. "You might want to ready that bow of yours and prepare yourself; the pleasant journey ends here."

---

It was the remnants of a wagon, Locke could tell that instantly. He wiped the half-melted snowflakes off his face.

Someone stood watch by the rubble. Locke had picked out the carefully hidden soldier with a bit of effort. A scar over one eye identified the sentry as Miles. His white-washed cloak was covered with fresh snow and tracks erased by magic. Most suspicious men would see nothing; the Imperials were spectres that appeared and disappeared without a trace.

Locke and Terra made their way to the wagon through the thick snow. Norris led the way while one last soldier lurked to the rear. Behind them, footprints from their heavy boots disappeared in shimmering waves. It was unnerving to watch Norris' handiwork.

"Five of them," Miles reported to his commander.

Norris nodded. "Keep an eye on the perimeter," he ordered before turning around. "Locke, Terra, come with me," he said. "I want fresh opinions."

Locke twiddled his fingers, following Norris yet glancing around in paranoia. None of the other Imperials could be seen. He hoped that they were merely securing the area and not engaging a patrol from Fanshaw. The mission was already dangerous enough, if the city was alerted to their presence... Locke glanced over at Terra. The grip on his shortbow tightened.

After passing a number of blackened and burnt mountain pines, they could make out the scene in greater detail. The wreckage of a wagon and its charred parts were scattered some distance about. Locke could tell that the spokes had simply buckled and exploded; the wheels were completely shattered. What little wood remained was blackened, and there were pools of frozen metal. The pursuit had been merciless, Locke thought as he studied the rubble. He had seen many incidents when the Empire hunted down his fellow Returners. Normally the Imperials would take out the driver with arrows, kill the chocobos, and then imprison the rest for interrogation or worse.

This scene was different.

"Fire arrows," Locke mumbled as he examined the ashes. He could still smell the oil that the Imperial archers had used to coat their projectiles. "They were shooting to kill," he declared.

Norris crossed his arms and stood over a pile of debris.

Locke turned to Terra, who was bent over and examining the wreckage of the body of the wagon. The carriage had flipped over after the wheels had collapsed, but burning arrows continued to rain down on the victims until all was aflame.

"Incineration," Terra whispered as her gloved hand touched the charred wood. The white glove came away with a dark spot; soot from the mix of fire and oils. There was something else though, her eyes didn't see it but she could feel it. "These weren't normal arrows," Terra added. "I think they were spelled beforehand."

Norris nodded. "Interesting... anything else?"

Terra did not respond. Instead she bolted to her feet as what had remained of the wagon crumbled upon her touch. As the ashes and wood fell away into the snow, they could clearly see the victims.

"My god," Terra averted her eyes from the gruesome scene.

Locke stared numbly at the bodies of women and children, numbers impossible to guess, that had been horribly mutilated. The inferno had been relentless, leaving nothing untouched and melting flesh and bone without distinction. Their faces -- what remained of them -- were twisted in pain and frozen in the throes of death. He knelt, touching one of the bodies out of curiosity. Expecting it to crumble on contact, he realized surprisingly that the cadavers were frozen solid. These people had died and the Old Man Winter had captured their last moments for all to see and fear.

The self-styled treasure hunter glanced up at Norris, who was studying Terra intently. He narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

"They died quite terribly, if that's what you're asking," Terra answered Norris' question at last. She wiped her hands of the wagon ash. "Maybe sort of spell to increase the potency of fire... absolutely no mercy was shown," she didn't bother masking her disgust. Those that had done this were abominable criminals, picking on the weak and defenceless. The rumbling of power within her stirred and Terra briefly let the feeling flow through her veins. She could have stopped this. She could have saved these people. If only they had come earlier.

Locke stared silently at the corpses. Fresh snow began to drift onto the faces of frozen pain, slowly covering the tragic scene. He turned around and noticed that one of the sentries -- not the one-eyed Miles, but the archer that had described the Aegis -- was watching them intently. Strange, he thought.

Terra shifted her feet. "Perhaps we should bury them," she suggested awkwardly.

Her words snapped Norris out of a silent trance. "No, we'll move out," the elder Magitek Knight answered. "Enough time has been wasted and there's no point doing nature's work." He straightened his cloak and brushed aside the growing mass of snowflakes upon his shoulders. "The Phantom Train will be full this winter," he mumbled under his breath.

Terra reluctantly nodded, knowing that the winter would bury the remains. The victims would remain forever nameless.

As they left, Locke watched Norris with renewed suspicion. He wondered what Norris had been looking for. Certainly it wasn't for their opinions; Norris had hardly given their analysis a second thought. Perhaps he had been testing them.

Locke wiped his face of sweat. It felt like years since he had been surrounded by friends, instead of potential enemies. He strapped his shortbow to his back and shook his head dismally. The others were probably worrying about them; he just hoped they were safe.

---

Cyan followed Farin at a relaxed pace. Between them was one of the Brigadier's most trusted men, the smoothly-shaven head and chin of a soldier named Donnach. That was it. A single man.  
Not that the Brigadier-General had only a single escort. There were some dozen other soldiers nearby, but they were protecting the three men in the center from outside danger. Cyan estimated the odds of killing Farin with a single blow were in his favour.

It was, however, a dream that would never be. Cyan had kept control of his anger for the past weeks, and he could keep control of it now. Edgar had been right. He had let his emotions get control of him all too often. How many times had he told some hapless squire to reign in his anger and fear? Yet here he was, ignoring his own lessons.

"General Starson, this way sir."

Farin nodded at an aged, scarred one-arm soldier with four finely polished silver bars on his chest. Cyan glanced up from his thoughts and noted that they were in a heavily fortified base that wasn't so much built on the ground as built out of the side of the mountain. The area looked like a mine, there were railroad tracks leading into dark tunnels. The base was defended by guard towers and fenced off with plenty of clearance from the tree-line.

It might have once been a secret, but now this Imperial base served as one of the principle supply stations for Danielle Meras' war effort. The dozen soldiers that surrounded Farin and Cyan was a mere pittance, there could have easily been a thousand working at that very moment, and this was a mere supply depot! The Imperial encampment was alive with activity, soldiers practicing with their blades, technicians running around trying to repair a vast array of war machines, and pilots that were triple-checking their Armors. The sound of heavy machinery was everywhere as mechanics repaired and rebuilt Magitek vehicles. It drowned out the hammering noise of blacksmiths forging blades and screams from the medical tents.

They walked through dozens of tents until a group of old cottages came into view. It confirmed what Cyan had guessed: this had been a mine once. The Imperials had probably evicted their own citizens in order to set up base.

"She is currently in the cottage closest to the fences."

Farin turned to the man that led them. "Thank you Colonel." An exchange of salutes and the one-armed officer left them alone.

Cyan looked around. Incredibly, they were isolated. With the exception of Farin's escort, no one else was nearby.

"Well Garamonde, this is where our little adventure ends," Farin gestured at the cottage the Colonel had pointed out. "And so we part."

The relationship between the two men was not so much animosity but mere irritation caused by situational circumstances beyond their control. As it was, Cyan had made his hatred thinly veiled. He had sworn that if Danielle's promise was broken, there would be a reckoning. For Farin Starson, such a threat was not taken lightly.

When Cyan had discovered that Danielle had Relm transferred south, from the capital city of Tzen all the way to the southernmost border of the province, there were no words to describe the anger he felt. The scheming General had moved Strago's granddaughter the same night their bargain had been struck, knowing full well that Cyan would disapprove.

He did disapprove. He made that very clear with his blade.

Farin Starson was the one who delivered the news that morning, hours after Edgar and Strago had departed. Feelings of unease had barely calmed from the near-bloodbath on Danielle's flagship, so it was no surprise that he arrived with several of his most skillful soldiers. The two warriors crossed blades that day -- Cyan had not yet found out that the General turned tail and fled aboard her fleet -- and the result had been a tedious stalemate.

The exchange had been furious and short; barely a heartbeat had passed before steel rang thrice in the morning air. It was not enough to gauge with any accuracy the relative skill between the two men, the most elite of the elite. However, it had been enough to give Cyan pause.

That was all the time Farin needed to explain the situation. They had moved Relm to a base near the front, but the area was fully protected and that was where they would be traveling. Farin was anything but tactful. With a few choice curses, Farin made sure Cyan knew that the Doma Knight was the reason for such a transfer. General Meras had not trusted Cyan enough to leave him inside her capital. Instead, she made sure he would be surrounded by no less than several thousand of her armed forces.

But the promise was still to be kept. Cyan would be given unfettered access to Relm, just in a different location. And despite the closeness to the front, she was still well-protected. That was still amicable, was it not?

Surrounded by the blades and arrows of eight other men that Farin considered his best, along with the Brigadier himself, Cyan had accepted the change in terms.

The ride south had been tense.

Together along with the Ninth Imperial Army, Cyan traveled to the Gap of Reddenhurst. It was a long ride and that was further lengthened by Farin's interference in the daily affairs of his own citizens. It seemed that the Brigadier was in no hurry to reach the Gap, which Cyan found very strange.

Cyan Garamonde of Doma strolled past Farin Starson without acknowledging his existence. The cottage was well placed, the Knight noted. It was deep inside a heavily fortified base. The wall that kept the enemy out would serve to keep him in.

"Garamonde!"

Cyan paused at the doorstep, aged maple that was covered with a fine layer of snow. The wood creaked as he turned back around. Finely honed reflexes allowed him to snatch a small metal object out of the air.

"You'll need that to get in and out of the base," Farin explained.

Cyan looked at the silver medallion in his hand. The Imperial Emblem was chief amongst the symbols etched into it. His hand snapped shut, the symbol of Empire snuffed from his sight.

The door behind him opened with a squeak and a gust of warm air hit his back. Cyan turned to meet a young, unbecoming soldier with short brown hair.

"Lieutenant Paisley," Donnach's voice was accompanied by the creaking of old wooden deck. "This is-"

"-Cyan Garamonde," Paisley held out his hand. When Cyan didn't move to shake it, he paled at the rebuke. "Sir?" he asked Donnach rather nervously.

Donnach paid him no attention. "Garamonde, you are a guest here and will have no more than two hours a day to spend with the girl. The rest of the time is your own. You will leave your weapon at the door and I would prefer to not have to explain what happens if you try anything."

Cyan's eyes slowly shifted to Donnach. He had assessed Paisley in a moment and almost smiled. The Imperials were playing quite an elaborate game. Everything had been skillfully planned to manipulate him, his judgment and his preconceptions. He had almost been fooled. There was nothing more difficult to see through than one's own prejudice.

Well, he would entertain them for now.

---

The cottage was small but homely. It even had lamps powered by electricity, the Imperials had taken the time and effort to extend whatever comforts it could. Relm had been given the royal treatment.

Outside the window, the shapes of guards could be seen. Cyan had inquired what the group of houses had been doing in an Imperial base; they were out of place for an army that commonly lived in tents. Paisley had answered that nobles often wanted to watch the war from a safe distance. Since the houses had been deserted, the army had made it comfortable for powerful and important nobles so they could see the civil war unfold from the frontlines.

Imperials. Corrupt, immoral and cowardly.

Cyan had a smile underneath his newly-trimmed moustache. He lowered the mirror softly the table and turned away from the window. "It looks wonderful, dear one."

Relm beamed. She put down the razor blade. "You looked all scraggly. It was so ugly and it was making me lose. I couldn't play! It was staring at me the whole time."

Cyan raised an eyebrow. He looked down at the chess set. It was an old set, the paint was flaking and many of the pieces scratched or chipped, but at least it was clean. Relm has washed it off and begged him for a game.

"Perhaps we should start a new game," he answered as he toppled his black King. He had been two unavoidable moves away from checkmating the white King. By the devious twinkle in her eye, he was sure that Relm knew it too.

"You probably don't have enough time for a proper game," the voice belonged to Irving. A short man that was heavily built, he had a detached manner about him that set off warning sirens in Cyan's head. He was bundled heavily despite how warm it had been in the cottage, and that had only gotten warmer after Relm had spelled the small fire in the fireplace.

The Imperials guarding Relm didn't seem to be all too concerned about her magical abilities. They had let her practice or play around with spells without ever raising a word of protest. Relm had even moved all pieces on the chessboard with nothing but magic. It was apparently something she and her grandfather had once done.

Cyan turned to face Irving, cloak still on and bundled underneath. The soldier acted cool and collected without a bead of sweat visible.

"I'm going to go now, Relm," Cyan told her, but his eyes never left Irving.

"We'll play again tomorrow?"

Cyan turned back to the little girl. She had an innocent smile on her face.

"Yes, of course," he answered. The game would continue, wouldn't it, Farin?

---

The Tiernay was a Second-Rate Man of War, although that was only by Imperial standards. For Edgar, it was a First-Rate ship whose tonnage alone was greater than every vessel in the Figarian Navy. With three gun decks, more than ninety cannons and a crew of over eight-hundred men, the Tiernay could easily fight in the center of a line of battle.

Her sister ship, the Diodorus, sailed beside her. The two were a formidable sight, easily mistaken for four-deck First-Rates like Danielle's flagship. They were surrounded by frigates of all ratings, with sloops and cutters farther out as a screen.

It was an impressive fleet. Edgar could not believe he was sailing home surrounded by such weaponry. The irony was not lost on the rightful King of Figaro.

The Battle of South Figaro had crippled the Figarian Navy to the point where such an Imperial fleet would have been cause for the colors to be struck. Though that had not been strictly the doing of the Empire -- the forts in South Figaro had fallen to treachery and captured cannons turned on their own countrymen -- Edgar was still reluctant to allow such a display of Imperial might into the waters of his homeland. Nor could he use the ships to any degree. To say his legitimacy would be questioned if he were backed by a foreign power was an understatement.

And so Edgar Roni Figaro found himself stuck with immense assets that were totally and completely worthless. The task ahead of him would demand everything he had. Edgar mentally listed the nobles that could be counted on to support his return. There were quite a few, but Edgar feared for their safety.

A spray of water hit Edgar square in the face, but he was already drenched. He stood to the starboard side and stared off into the seemingly infinite ocean. Dark clouds swirled overhead; a storm was coming.

"So deep in thought that you don't even react to buckets of water smashing you in the face."

Edgar sighed. "Strago, when I said that Cyan would not be much help, I meant it. What follows will be delicate and tedious. There is simply nothing that tests one's patience more than the selfishness of nobility."

"Well spoken, King Edgar," Strago frowned as he looked Edgar up and down. "Though I must say, having a cold while you discuss rebellion to those that support you will be quite a problem."

Edgar laughed. "Perhaps," he wiped his face of seawater. "What's on your mind, Strago?"

The elder mage brushed at his damp white hair and smoothed out his crimson robes. "Valerio just came aboard."

"That's surprising," Edgar said. He turned away from the vastness of the horizon. "What would he want?" he wondered out loud.

"Certainly not to see you soaked and smelling of the sea! Hold still lad, I'll clean you up," Strago pushed up his sleeves and yellow sparkles danced around his hands.

"It's alright Strago, I'll talk to Valerio and then I'll change. No need to use magic for everything."

Valerio stood at the prow, developed sea-legs allowing him to maintain the statue-like aura. Even when the ship pitched to and fro, Valerio's composure was static; but his brown hair fluttered in the strengthening sea-breeze.

"What are you doing here, Valerio?" Edgar asked as he avoided several boys scurrying around the deck. He looked up and noticed that men were adjusting the rigging and letting down sails on the mizzenmast and mainmast. "I can see that we're picking up speed, doesn't seem too smart if the storm is coming, but I'm sure the Captain of this vessel can handle those details."

Valerio directed his attention to Edgar. "We are still a good deal away from Figaro, but I had thought to question your intended tactics."

"I can't plan much when I don't know anything about the coast," Edgar replied. "We'll have to use the sloops as scouts and hope we don't stir up a hornet's nest," he said as he stared off into the distance. Far to the starboard, great banks of fog obscured the remains of the Floating Continent. It was still floating, Edgar remarked to himself sadly.

"Very well, what I need to know is if you intend on arriving with gunports open," Valerio's voice was not as deep as one expected from a man as large and built as he. And, Edgar realized, this was probably the most he had ever heard the statue speak.

"I don't intend to engage my own countrymen," Edgar growled.

"It might be unavoidable," Valerio replied instantly. "Our scouting curtain cannot possibly cover everything, and we lack the supplies to fight a protracted battle at sea. In addition, even if we avoid battle as you wish, we will still need a place to dock, hide, and resupply."

Edgar hadn't thought about that. It didn't occur to him that the Imperial fleet would not just deliver him back home, but stay there until his mission was accomplished. "It might be possible, although I would presume these ships can last for quite a while."

"Long enough to make the journey there and back with ease, but not long enough for you to negotiate."

Edgar found himself impressed. Valerio had given all signs of being just muscle, even when assigned to the command staff of the Diodorus. However, it appeared that he was giving thought to what Edgar would have to do once back home. He wondered how much the Empire knew about Figaro and the royal court... or more importantly, how much Danielle had shared with her minion.

"I'll think of something," Edgar delayed for time.

"When you do, signal me. As well, I have authorized the Captain to share with you any and all details about the capabilities of this fleet. You would do well to learn everything you can, or else the Admiral will take command the fleet." Valerio turned around. He nodded at Strago respectfully. "Elder mage, if you could accompany back to the Diodorus, I have some requests for your abilities."

Strago gave him a puzzled glance. He had been silent until now, unaddressed and lacking even theoretical knowledge on naval warfare. "I'll do what I can, as long as it's nothing bloody."

Despite speaking as much as he had, Valerio maintained his emotionless countenance. He straightened, towering over Strago even more so. "One of the officers is close to losing his arm, an infection of sorts. Our leech can do nothing but amputate. I thought you would be able to offer another solution," he stated.

Strago stroked the whiskers of his beard. "I'll see what I can do."

Valerio nodded. "Thank you," he replied, though he didn't sound like he was. "And Edgar," Valerio turned back to the estranged King.

"Yeah?"

"The Admiral wishes for a briefing on whatever technological engineering achievements your Kingdom may have prepared for us. It would be best if there were no surprises, especially if we have to fight our way out."

Edgar frowned. He certainly didn't want the Empire to know any of that. Figarian engineering was more advanced than the Empire's in several aspects. Against the vast might of the Imperial forces, they would need every trick they had.

"Remember Edgar, you walk a fine line here. We will be open with you, and you will return the favour. Anything less and we all die."

Edgar glared at the departing Valerio, annoyed at the way he was being treated. Strago shook his head sadly and patted Edgar on the back before following. They left the estranged King standing alone at the bow, once again motionless even as waves broke upon the hull and the white spray hit him face first. He stared off in the direction of his homeland, only now fully-comprehending what his deal with Danielle could cost him.

---

Locke sank into the snow a bit more. His hand scooped up a large mouthful of the white flakes; the icy cold rush did more than just keep him awake, it kept his breath from turning into mist and potentially revealing their location.

Beside him was an equally quiet Sherwood. The eagle-eyed archer had a pair of lenses with him, binoculars, pressed up against his eyes. A white hood covered his entire head -- not a strand of blond hair could be seen -- and a white scarf was wrapped around his mouth.

They were perched over the city of Fanshaw, watching the quiet Imperial fortress from dizzying heights above. The outcropping of rock that they laid upon was marked by a lone pine tree, its needles withered and probably buried beneath the snow.

Below them was a city that looked disturbingly like Narshe. Machinery could be seen everywhere: on the streets, sticking out of houses, jutting hazardously out of huge factories. But unlike Narshe, Locke could not see a single wisp of steam rise from the buildings that should have housed thousands.

"No lights, no fires, nothing..." Sherwood whispered as let the binoculars drop into the snow with a quiet thunk.

A city as large as Fanshaw should never have its outer walls deserted. It should have been good news for them -- sneaking in would hardly be a challenge when there were no guards -- but it also suggested Fanshaw had been hit by an unknown disaster.

Locke nodded and rolled on his side. They had been in the snow for a while and he could feel a slight wetness in his cloak. Water was seeping in through the many layers he was wrapped in. "Like I said, something is wrong down there. We should head back." Terra and Clarkson were scouting the city from another angle and while there was no immediate danger, Locke was tired of being alone with Imperials dogging his every step.

Sherwood brushed at his hood and brought up his binoculars. "One more look, I want to make sure that the southern wall is completely deserted."

Unlike Narshe, Fanshaw was completely walled in from all sides. Great slabs of solid stone rose from the mountain-side that the city had been built on. Perhaps thrice as tall as a Magitek unit, Locke had not seen any cracks upon the smooth black stonework. No mortar had ever touched those rocks. It had been made with the Empire's magical arts, he had seen the same in Vector and it was frighteningly unnatural.

Sherwood swore silently and pulled off his hood. The Imperial archer wiped at his head of damp, blond hair. "Unbelievable," he grumbled. "Let's head out."

Terra and Clarkson were only a few minutes away. They were perched quite a bit lower than where Locke and Sherwood had been. It was a closer view from a different angle that revealed nothing new.

Something was definitely wrong in Fanshaw.

"I don't understand it," Clarkson grumbled. "At this time of night, there should be four squads on the walls and at least one watch, but..."

Terra huddled in her wolf-skin mantle. Locke gave her a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder.

"We'll head back and report," Clarkson said as he pulled off his hood. He rustled his curly hair. "Maybe Miles has seen something substantial. If Fanshaw has been struck by disaster, then the roads from Vector would tell the tale."

---

Norris' second-in-command certainly did have something to report. The one-eyed Miles returned with his team in tow well after everyone else. Already familiar with the area around Fanshaw, Miles had cut across the northern plains and gathered information near the main roads.

The aged Magitek-Knight folded his arms and listened attentively while Miles reported. He had already steeled himself for the worst after hearing what Clarkson had discovered.

The northern walls of Fanshaw were just as deserted as the southern ones. The difference was that unlike their kin, the northern ones were barely standing. Entire sections had been blown apart, the smooth faced stone exploding from acts of sorcery. Guard towers had been torn at the base and felled like trees. The front gates had been a pool of dark metal upon the road, and even the stone nearby had melted from the intense heat.

"Fanshaw is probably deserted," Miles continued. "The wagon scene we saw three days ago was only the beginning. There are hundreds more just like it, littered about the main road. I doubt anyone escaped to the north."

Norris rubbed his chin, taking in the unexpected news with an air of regret. "If you were to guess..." he started.

"Ten days ago at most," Miles replied. "No less than six days, or there wouldn't be enough time for the storms to claim so many."

Norris sighed. "Drummond," he said quietly. "This means that the entire western front might not even exist."

"I doubt there's anything left in Fanshaw," Miles continued.

"The damage is restricted to just the northern section," Clarkson interjected. "That would mean that they probably killed the entire garrison with Magitek and then slaughtered the rest on foot. I would assume that-"

"What does it matter?" Miles snapped. "Dead is dead, there's nothing alive left in Fanshaw."

"Miles, calm down," Norris interrupted quickly.

Miles growled. "You have no idea what it looks like on the main roads. The dead are everywhere and were it not winter, disease would be festering and monsters would be feasting. It was a slaughter! Women, children, the elderly; it doesn't matter because they were all butchered like animals!"

Locke watched as the big soldier grit his teeth and point back in the direction of Fanshaw. "Those bastards were killing children! Criminals they are, every single one of them. I don't care which division they were, if I ever meet-"

"Then save your anger for those that did it," Norris interrupted calmly. His composed manner silenced Miles, who turned away in anger. Norris gave Miles a sidelong glance, his brown eyes judging one of the best men he had ever worked with, before turning to the blond swordsman that had accompanied him many times on covert missions. "Clarkson, continue," he said.

Clarkson folded his arms. "I believe there was something in the southern side of Fanshaw they were attempting to retrieve undamaged. Otherwise, they would have attacked from the rear. They would have the benefit of high ground. Criminals or not, they aren't incompetent. Even with the heavy patrols south of Fanshaw and throughout the forests, striking from the front is beyond madness."

"I agree," Norris gave a slight nod. "Terra?" he glanced over at the half-Esper.

Terra shook her head. "Nothing overt, but we're still quite far away. I wouldn't expect to sense anything from this distance."

The Colonel frowned. "Do you think there's something waiting for us?"

Terra folded her arms and looked around uncomfortably. All eyes were on her, veteran soldiers depending almost exclusively on her expertise. "I don't know," she said slowly.

"What about the flying green skull?" Norris pressed.

Terra shuddered when she thought about that monster over Tzen, nor was she the only one. The men gathered all exchanged looks of concern. Few had even imagined the possibility that an entire Imperial city could have been destroyed by monsters. It was easier to believe that traitors had turned into barbarians rather than beasts overcoming first-class Imperial defences.

"No," Terra answered. "I would have felt its presence, or any similar monsters."

"That's all I need to know," Norris stood up. "No matter what has befallen Fanshaw, our mission is to ensure that Project Camiel is destroyed. Clarkson, Gossman, I'm authorizing both of you to deviate from the plan as you see fit, but the primary objectives remain the same."

Locke looked over at Terra, reminding himself the real reason why he was there. The two of them had been given what seemed to be a bloodless task, but still... He stared at her for a moment, trying to convince himself that he was doing the right thing. Finally, he turned back to Norris impassively, half-listening to the Colonel as he gave orders to kill Imperial citizens.

"-know what the hell has happened to the city. If time permits, investigate, but do not take any unnecessary risks," Norris' gaze suddenly locked with the thief. "And remember, what we do this night could reshape the course of the war. It's absolutely critical that we do not fail tonight. There is far more at stake than just our lives," the old officer finally broke eye-contact. "Dismissed."

---

They climbed the eastern wall with such ease that Locke was actually impressed. Sherwood and Clarkson were quite the pair, their grappling hooks were perfectly thrown and the two men bounded up the black face in seconds. Locke scaled the wall after the two soldiers, finding the smooth stonework an enjoyable challenge. While Clarkson pulled Terra up, Locke took the chance to observe the disturbingly empty city. His stomach turned when he saw all the red stains upon the walls, not even the winter frost could hide the bloodshed.

The inside of the deserted guard towers was no better. The outlook had been a battleground. Blood was splattered across the walls and floors, and most of the furnishings had been broken in a brutal brawl. It smelled of both charred and rotting flesh but there was not a single cadaver. Locke took a deep breath and instantly regretted it.

They made their way down blood-slicked stairs without any noise. Norris had taught Terra an immensely useful spell, one that made their movements all but impossible to hear. It had been extremely disturbing. Locke had jumped up and down in the snow like a child on a bed, but failed to make the slightest sound. It was also slightly irritating. No matter how useful the spell was, it made things too easy. After all, he had spent years correcting the slightest twitch, those subconscious idiosyncrasies that might have given away his position while he snuck around. Yet here was magic that made a massive bumbling warrior like Clarkson into the perfect thief.

Sherwood, on the other hand, was like a ghost. He prowled with the grace of a cat, never disturbing anything and always moving smoothly. So fluid was his motions that even Locke had been surprised on occasion by the master-archer. Sherwood didn't attract attention.  
At the bottom of the stairs, Clarkson motioned for Locke and Terra to stay behind. Then he and Sherwood slipped through the old wooden door connected to the barracks.

"Terra," Locke took the rare opportunity to speak without the presence of Imperials. "About what we're supposed to do today."

"I don't intend to," Terra answered with determination. "I've had a lot of time to think, Locke. I won't let Norris intimidate me into doing anything I don't want to."

Locke made sure Clarkson and Sherwood were out of earshot before continuing. "That pair; I just know Norris put two of his best men to watch over us. We should really be careful. We might have no choice but to..." he gestured across neck.

Terra frowned. "I don't think they would-"

"We have to be prepared," Locke pointed out. "I don't want to do it anymore than you. I can still see arrows from Sherwood's bow flying over my crumpled body; the Imperials have saved my life too." He rubbed his bandaged ribs meaningfully. "I don't want to hurt them, but if we have no choice..."

"Fine," Terra relented.

Silence settled between the two Returners, but they didn't have long to brood over the possibility of stabbing their allies in the back. Clarkson returned first. "There was a bloody brawl here, but I see neither bodies nor survivors," he noted quietly. "It doesn't make any sense..."

Locke gestured towards the city. "From the roof, I didn't see any bodies in the streets. Yet signs of fighting were everywhere. It looks like your soldiers decided to bury their victims."

"They're not ours," Sherwood interrupted from behind them, silently descending the narrow flight of stairs from the top of the guard tower. "No Imperial soldier would do something like this," the archer said with a disproving frown.

Locke bit back his snappy retort.

"Terra, how much longer do we have with this spell?" Clarkson asked. He was all business.

Terra shook her head. "I'm not sure, I don't have much practice with it and I don't even understand why we can talk but jumping up and down makes no noise. Maybe twenty minutes, but-"

"Even the Colonel would be hard-pressed to do more," Clarkson cut her off softly. "The safe-house is our next destination. I'm not going to chance the meeting in the streets, it's doubtful that our contact is still alive. The route will lead past the main laboratories," he pointed through the wall and motioned to their left. "We'll double back afterwards. Maybe we'll find something overlooked in the chaos."

"I wouldn't expect even that," Sherwood replied cynically, just moments before Locke voiced the exact same opinion.

"Nothing wrong with hoping," Clarkson retorted, drawing a brief smile from Terra. "I'll go first. Locke, you're next and then Terra. Sherwood, you have the rear."

---

Colonel Norris Ferdinand had spent thirty of his years in the Imperial Armed Forces. Ten he had spent working covert operations with the Special Forces, and sometime during that period he had volunteered for augmentation. He considered himself experienced, a man that had seen much and would be surprised by little. Sure certain developments might catch him off-guard, but nothing should leave him gawking like a virgin's first sight of naked breast.

This topped everything he had ever seen in his life, and it was nowhere as pleasant as the first time he had enjoyed the pleasures of the flesh. Norris Ferdinand averted his eyes and fought the unfamiliar urge to vomit. He turned back to his team. Only Miles was still looking at the scene, his cheeks red in rage as he visibly fought the urge to curse loudly and uncontrollably. His arms shook in anger and his knuckles were white around his mighty battle-axe.

Norris took a deep breath and calmed himself. Deathly cold winter air filled his lungs and chilled his blood. "It seems we found the people of Fanshaw that were not slaughtered on the roads," Norris said stoically. He took another deep breath, thanking the gods that it was winter and that there was not the stench of rotting flesh.

Thousands of men, women and children, had been killed within the town square of Fanshaw. Headless bodies were piled in a great heap, some still in the uniform of the Imperial Army, most in just ordinary clothing, and others stark naked. The majority died elsewhere but had been dragged to the center of the city. Some had been mutilated after their deaths, others had vulgarities written in blood or carved into lifeless flesh. But that was not what disgusted the stalwart defenders of the Empire.

Norris estimated around two-hundred, all children, in the center of heap of corpses. Two hundred wooden spikes that was central to the display of debauchery. Each had a child on top, driven between the legs unto the pointed end of the shaft.

By the expressions on their faces, they were driven alive.

It took all his years of training to compose himself, to think logically and approach the situation in a way demanded of an officer as highly ranked as he. Under the cover of darkness, lit only by what the little moonlight sifted through the clouds, they probably could not see the full extent of the debasement. It could not have been monsters that had done this. It was too cruel... too methodical. It was executed with a kind of cold precision that Norris had to accept was human.

It had to have taken days to do something like this, days that an army typically did not have. It was also a coordinated effort, there could be no excusing any of the criminals that had been attacked Fanshaw. Yes, criminals. These weren't soldiers. Soldiers did not do things like this.

The walls had been melted by Magitek Armors. That ruled out anyone else but the Imperial Armed Forces. Danielle Meras had no such forces so far south in the Core -- she was besieged in the Gap and Norris doubted she would break through within the month -- and Norris also knew Anson Tilton would never do this to his own forces. There was only one remaining suspect.

Norris could only wonder what could have turned Drummond's men commit such vile atrocities. It didn't seem possible. Norris still knew a few men, good Magitek Knights and former-ISF, that had been transferred to Drummond's command shortly before the Marandan War began. The Fourth and Fifth Imperial Armies had some of the most highly-skilled, experienced officers within the armed forces. They would not have done this.

But the facts remained. Danielle Meras and Anson Tilton could not have done this. The only person with the capability was him. It had to be Drummond. The Maverick had to have his hand in this debauchery.

"We should leave," Miles growled. "It's obvious that there's nothing left alive in this city."

Norris gritted his teeth. That was correct, in the process of their systematic -- perhaps even ritualistic -- slaughter, Drummond's forces had inadvertently fulfilled Norris' mission of disabling progress on Project Camiel. The scientists had been in Fanshaw were likely buried somewhere in that pile of corpses.

"It's just unfortunate that we lost Eric and his platoon. I doubt they managed to escape the attack," the one-eyed soldier continued. Norris didn't have the heart to tell Miles to be quiet, and that his chatter could be their downfall. "He was a good man; excellent at infiltration. No doubt he had prepared for weeks in order to assist us in this raid. I will miss him."

Norris looked north, towards the Imperial Capital of Vector. His eyes narrowed as he realized what else was bothering him. "Miles," Norris held out his hand and silenced the big soldier. "Something doesn't make sense. Drummond had at least two divisions attack Fanshaw from the north. But you saw nothing strange on the roads, neither in the attackers nor the failed escapees." Norris thought about the shape of the walls and tried to recall anything peculiar.

Behind them, Anthony gasped. "Of course, whatever Project Camiel is didn't get used. Anything that could replace the Guardian would have left its mark in the battlefield. We saw nothing that couldn't be accomplished with a couple frontliners," the medic exclaimed.

Norris stroked at the whiskers above his lips. Snowflakes had settled in his white beard and stuck to his gloves. "Even more importantly, if I were in command and had crippled the western front, I would never have attacked Fanshaw. It's too far south to seriously impact a siege on Vector and too well-defended to send a small force. Assuming Drummond hasn't lost his mind," Norris continued knowing how big of an assumption that might be, "then they were here for some other reason."

"Perhaps the same as us?" Miles asked.

"No, if they knew about Camiel then they would never have attacked in force by the front gates," Norris said as he struggled to make something of the situation. "They were here for something else and lucked out. It was likely small enough for General Lilienthal to overlook, but still worth a division or more," he concluded.

"Anything worth twenty-thousand men doesn't exactly define overlookable," Anthony quipped.

Norris smiled at the backtalk. Anthony had never been in the Imperial Special Forces and had earned his position through battlefield merits. Norris had worried about his decision to include the highly-decorated Sergeant, especially when he had seen how much difficulty Anthony had trying to think beyond the call of standard soldiers. However, he had Clarkson's recommendation and Norris was thrilled to see the young man finally take advantage of his new-found liberties.

"Very sharp Sergeant. Either our General didn't know about it, or felt it much less important than Camiel," Norris thought out-loud.

"Perhaps they knew Camiel was incomplete," Anthony offered. "So they struck first and in overwhelming force."

Norris nodded. It was a good, simple answer, but his gut told him that there was more to this than a surgical strike.

"Regardless, there has to be some clues still lying around," Miles concluded. "We'll need to find them."

"What about our original task?" Anthony asked. "Mission accomplished?"

Norris nodded grimly. "Fanshaw will no longer be host to the development of Camiel. Our mission parameters are a complete success," he answered. He didn't bother hiding the disgust in his voice.

"Alright, then I suggest we head to the southern district of town," Miles pointed in that direction. "As Clarkson said, they avoided that area. It appears the nobles are up to their old tricks again."

---

Clarkson glanced down hopefully and watched small blue sparks drift in lazy spirals around Terra's hands. He clutched at the blue blanket in his hand, something he had found in the basement. Sherwood was near the doors, standing guard but watching them instead of the street, while Locke carefully lifted up a canteen to the girl's lips.

The safe-house had been empty. Not single soul had been within the laboratories. Dozens of rooms had been carefully checked, but there had not been so much as a corpse. Only blood splattered across the walls had greeted them whenever they opened a door, alluding to a slaughter but never giving them anything concrete.

They had left the eastern compound in a hurry. Their mission was accomplished: there were no scientists left in that facility. The inferno they had set would consume whatever research might have remained.

Ahead of schedule and the sun still another hour away, they decided to take a detour. Clarkson was determined to discover what had happened, and the pristine nature of the noblemen dwellings had been their destination.

After five deserted houses, each ransacked and pillaged, they had found her.

She had been buried beneath a bed of straw. Like most of the mansions, the wine cellars in the basements had been raided and nothing remained but empty bottles. In the fifth house though, Locke had noticed a trail of crimson-smudged straw that led them to the girl. They had thought she was dead, her skin was white and pasty, bruises littered her body and dried blood was everywhere. The room had been covered with urine and fecal matter, and there were metal chains left on the floor covered with just about every bodily fluid Locke knew.

Terra gasped loudly as the blue sparkles disappeared. Clarkson helped her back to her feet, her eyes drooping as she tried to recover from the intense drain of healing magic.

The girl coughed as water from Locke's canteen hit her throat. A single brown eye stared at Terra, slowly focusing on white figures in front of her.

Clarkson waited until Terra regained her balance and stood on her own. "She was quite close to death," Terra explained between heavy gasps. "There's a taint that still flows through her, some sort of darker magic that I've never encountered before. I say she fell unconscious and then the cold got to the rest of her body... thank you," she said as Clarkson handed her the blanket. Terra knelt down and carefully wrapped it around the girl's bare midsection. They had found her naked, what little rags had been left on her limbs would not be considered clothing anywhere in the world.

"How is she?" Sherwood asked. He had pulled off his hood and beneath his ruffled blond hair there was a bead of sweat. It was moderately warm in the house and they were bundled and spelled to survive nights in deep snow.

Locke gently held the girl's head straight and steadied his canteen for her. The flickering candlelight that lit the mansion's main room danced across her face, bringing to Locke's attention the grievous cut that ran across her right eye and down her cheek. Bits of straw were still stuck to the dried blood.

Clarkson glanced at Sherwood. "Much better than before. She seems to be breathing normally, thanks to Terra," he answered.

Terra wiped the sweat off her brow. She brushed back her dyed-blonde hair. "She's still hurt pretty badly, but I did what I could." The half-Esper frowned, something seemed off about the girl. The healing spell had swept away the dark, frightful aura that surrounded her. The darkness must have been a result of the fear and pain, Terra surmised. She knew healing magic had a warm, loving touch and that could possibly heal even emotional wounds.

"Who..." the girl's voice was hoarse and no more than a whisper, but it more than enough to surprise everyone.

Locke took his canteen away. He steadied the girl as she tried to sit up. "Careful," he warned gently.

"I'll be fine," her voice grew stronger as she sat up. Her one good eye focused on Locke. "Thank you," she said quietly.

Locke gestured at Terra. "Thank her. She saved you from certain death. We don't know how long you spent buried in the cellar, but you're very lucky to still be alive."

The girl was perhaps a year or two younger than Terra. Her brown hair was matted with blood, probably her own, and she clutched onto Locke for support even though they were seated in one of the few unbroken pieces of furniture left in the mansion.

"Thank you," she said as she looked up at Terra. "I'm Anna."

"I'm Terra, nice to meet you Anna," Terra smiled.

Anna gave a weak smile back.

"That's Clarkson, Sherwood, and the one giving you water is Locke," Terra continued.

"She'll need something to wear if we're getting her back to the Colonel," Clarkson took off his white-washed cloak. "I'll go cold for a little while," he gestured for Sherwood to check the streets again.

Anna screamed.

Locke suddenly found himself holding on to a screaming and panicking girl. She twisted and turned with such strength that it broke his grip almost instantly. "What in the-!" he cried before a flailing arm caught him across the face. When he reeled from the shock and pain, she broke completely free of his grasp. As he fell backwards, Locke could see her face twisted from terror.

She was afraid of him.

There was also something else, something different. It was a dangerous passion that was derived from the uncontrollable torrent of emotions that assaulted her: anger.

Anna fell to the ground -- her right leg was completely tangled with the blanket she held close -- and crawled away from Locke. Desperate glances were directed at Clarkson, her face a mask of fear. Her eyes darted from him to Sherwood, then to Locke, and finally back to Clarkson. She screamed unintelligibly at him and gestured wildly in the air. Her arms, thin, pale and bruised, pulled her farther from them.

Locke recovered swiftly, but Clarkson had already darted into action. He quickly restrained the girl before she made any more noise, clamping his hand over her mouth and grunting in pain as Anna bit him. Locke joined the struggle, concerned that Clarkson would inadvertently hurt Anna.

Sherwood spun around and quickly stepped between Anna and Terra. He pushed the half-Esper behind him as his right arm came up, sleeve pulled back, revealing a miniature crossbow strapped near the wrist.

Terra paled. She reacted instinctively, grabbing Sherwood's arm.

The crossbow bolt embedded itself in a defecated painting, far above Locke, Clarkson and Anna. Splinters of wood fell on the entangled mass of limbs.

"What are you doing?" Sherwood growled. He grabbed Terra by the neck with one hand and pointed the left arm at her face.

"Terra!" Locke shouted. He tried to get up, but was still entangled with Anna! The fine hairs stood on the back of his neck when he saw the murderous look on Sherwood's face. Locke's bow was still strapped to his back and his knives out of reach.

Terra knew Sherwood had another crossbow strapped to his left hand, one that was still loaded and now pointed at her. The rumbling of power stirred within her more strongly than ever before. The seductive whispers were accompanied by something new: a rush that felt like her head had been slammed into a bucket of ice-cold water. It was... clarity.

"Sherwood, at ease! We need this girl alive," Clarkson grunted as he put Anna in an armlock.

Sherwood didn't back down. He ignored his commanding officer and kept his aim on Terra.

"She's scared of your Imperial uniform," Terra stated quietly but authoritatively. She had made the connection between Anna's panicked expression and the suddenly comprehensible words she was crying out despite Clarkson's attempts to silence her. She pushed temptation away with all her willpower. The inner strength this required was mirrored on her face, and that made Sherwood pause.

When the siren's song had been silenced, her eyes connected with Sherwood's, knowing that he was ready to kill her if did anything remotely dangerous. "There's no need to kill her and if you had, then we'll never find out what happened here," she said calmly.

Clarkson was still restraining Anna, whispering to her quietly as Locke finally got to his feet. He drew both knives in a flash.

Sherwood slowly lowered his left arm, almost reluctantly. He let go of Terra's neck.

"Anna, please, calm down," Terra pleaded as she pushed past Sherwood.

"We're troops from Albrook, we did not attack the city," Clarkson continued. His voice was softer, and it was apparent that he was slowly relaxing his grip on Anna. "You'll be safe with us. We're only here to help you."

Terra knelt down in front of Anna with a spell at her fingertips. Yellow light enveloped the two women and forced away the blackness that surrounded the tortured soul. Anna instantly stopped flailing and screaming, and as the sparkles continued to float around them, she slowly calmed down. Her breathing evened out and the look on her face relaxed.

Locke ignored the stinging in his cheek and glared at Sherwood. "What did you think you were doing?" he growled as he closed the distance between them, his knives behind his back. He was enraged at the Imperial soldier. How dare he hurt Terra!

Sherwood had already reloaded his second crossbow. He let the sleeves of his cloak drift back down, hiding the two weapons. "She got in my way. We're lucky this time that she-" he pointed at Anna, "-wasn't a danger," he answered in a threatening voice. "Her interference could have meant our lives."

Locke pointed at Terra. "Why did you try to kill her?" he nearly shouted at Sherwood.

"Locke," Clarkson growled. He had opened his pack and was in the process retrieving an ointment for the bruises and burns on Anna's feet. "This is not the time."

Locke glared back at Clarkson. "He tried to kill Terra! He ignored your direct orders! Now you're defending him?"

Clarkson smoothed a sticky white paste over Anna's legs. "Locke, not now! I need you to make sure no one heard us," he ordered as he searched for bandages in his pack. "Sherwood, get upstairs and cover him. And find Anna something to wear while you're at it."

Sherwood climbed the staircase without a noise.

Locke crossed his arms and fumed. He couldn't believe how quickly things had degenerated, how surprised he had been when he saw those assassin crossbows on Sherwood's wrists. He gritted his teeth when he realized he had been unable to help Terra when she needed him... again.

By the time Clarkson finished with the bandages, they had finished checking around the house. Anna was surprised by the pair of clean pants and woollen sweater that Sherwood had found. The men turned their backs while Terra helped Anna with her clothes.

"Sherwood, check the streets," Clarkson ordered as he stood between the two men. "Locke, you'll help Anna get around. We won't be able to scale the eastern wall with her like this, but we can make a dash through the broken northern walls. The Colonel can't complain too much about the change in plans since we're bringing her along."

Locke waited until Sherwood had left the building before turning towards Anna. "Fine," he relented.

Clarkson sighed. "Terra, can you cast another silencing spell?"

"Not without Norris to guide me," Terra answered. She eyed the front door, still thinking about Sherwood's crossbows.

Locke helped Anna to her feet, grunting as she put her weight against his shoulders. She stood on her own two feet and teetered for a moment, then regained her balance. It looked like she would be able to walk.

Sherwood returned from the streets. "It's clear," he announced, "and it looks like dawn is nearing."

"Let's head back quickly," Clarkson ordered.

---

They made good pace through the deserted streets of Fanshaw. Sherwood was in the front, moving about smoothly and soundlessly. Since their stealth spells had worn off, Locke got a good idea of how stealthy Sherwood could be. A ghost would probably be louder, Locke surmised. But he could see why Sherwood had such skills now. The miniature crossbows had made it clear. He was no archer, though he certainly had the skill for it, but an assassin.

Clarkson was also surprisingly quiet. The Imperial was nowhere as good as Locke was, but it was a far cry from the bumbling fool that Locke had originally expected.

Locke had been told to keep an eye on Anna and help her along. Since Terra was handling herself adequately, Locke had given his attention to the young girl. It hurt to look at her. She was barely sixteen, but Locke could see the torture she had been put through. Considering how she had reacted to the Imperial soldiers, the thief had a feeling that the wounds and scars weren't limited to just her body.

They crossed street after street as Sherwood led them through Fanshaw. The dark night sky was starting to lighten up and stars were fading away. Dawn was approaching fast and Norris had been insistent that they couldn't stay after daybreak. However, Locke could tell from the desolation that gripped the city that reinforcements would not be arriving.

As they neared the northern walls, the buildings became progressively more and more ruined. Soon, they were sneaking from collapsed house to collapsed house, still staying to the safety of the shadows just in case anyone was watching. Clarkson glanced around in paranoia while Sherwood scouted what appeared to be a section of the northern wall that they could climb through.

While they waited, Locke checked on Anna's bandages to make sure they were tight. He looked up and found himself staring into frightened brown eyes. "Are you alright?" he whispered.

It was as if she suddenly realized they were making eye contact, because she jerked away so quickly that it alerted Clarkson and Terra. Locke waved them off, signalling that everything was fine. The two returned to keeping watch while they waited for Sherwood to return. When he looked back at the young girl, he was surprised to see her helping herself to a drink from his canteen.

When did she take that from him?

"Thanks," Locke grumbled when Anna handed his empty tin canteen back. As he replaced it by his belt, he caught something in her eyes. She looked away as quickly as the flicker of emotion had vanished, leaving Locke to wonder if he was beginning to go mad. "Are you alright?" he asked, paranoid but curious.

Anna said stared at her feet. The look of pain had returned to her face, that same petrified look they had seen when Clarkson had taken off his cloak. "Of course not," she whispered. "You just wouldn't understand..." she blinked away tears.

Locke swallowed the bile that had risen in his throat. He could sympathize with her; there had been a period of time that he had dreaded seeing the brown leather of the Imperial Army. It had taken years for him to get over the torrent of emotion whenever he saw it, and he wasn't even really sure if he was over it. He suddenly couldn't control the urge to take Anna's hand, soft and warm despite exposure to the cold winter air. Seeing Anna hurt and frightened, so vulnerable... it brought all those uncomfortable memories back to mind. "It's alright," Locke whispered. "You'll be safe with me, I promise."

For some reason, his words sounded hollow.

Anna didn't respond, but pulled her hand back. As she did so, he saw the same flicker of emotion. This time, he was sure he knew what it was.

Hate.

Locke put as much distance between himself and her as was possible under the circumstance.

---

While they were crouched in the shadow of a collapsed guard tower, they could see that beams of light were beginning to stream their way from the east, through the peaks of the Strachan Mountains. Terra was silent as she watched Clarkson's head dart from side to side, anxiously waiting for Sherwood's return. She moistened her lips, the air was as dry as it was cold, and looked at the blond-haired soldier that had accompanied her since the day of the Messis Luna.

The power deep inside her had been consistently stirring. She had never felt it so strongly before. The emerald gemstone that hung near the nape of her neck was a poor substitute for the comfort of her father. Terra swallowed back the dreadful feeling of knowing that she might have to fight the seductive power for the rest of her life.

"Clarkson," Terra whispered. She needed something to take her mind of the stirring of emotions within her.

"If it's about Sherwood, the best I can offer is an apology," Clarkson replied immediately. His tone was deep but quiet, he knew that whispers traveled.

Terra paused. It was strange, but she had almost forgotten about how close to death she had been. Sherwood had been ready to kill her had she resisted in the slightest. It was her own fault, but stopping that wrist-mounted crossbow had been so instinctive she didn't realize what she did until Sherwood had grabbed her by the throat. A month ago, she would have collapsed under those murderous eyes, but there had been strength in her that she had called upon. It had been the same strength that allowed her to stand up to Remiel... after a fashion.

"No," Terra denied. "I didn't expect one," and that was the truth. They were Imperial soldiers and she accepted that they did what they did and never thought twice about it. Only a select few had ever shown remorse; Leo had even apologized for something he had not been a part of, and Farin for his inability to protect her. But they had been rarities.

"Then what's wrong?" Clarkson asked. He sounded genuinely concerned. It surprised her.

"I..." Terra broke eye-contact, embarrassed. What was she to say? That she just wanted to talk so that she could keep her mind off of the seductive rush of power that threatened to overwhelm and control her? Either he'd laugh at her naivete, or he would have drawn the sword at his side and cut her down. "I saw something dark in Anna," she found herself saying instead.

Clarkson narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"I saw a dark aura around her, a magical taint that I had never seen before," Terra explained. It was as good of a topic as she could think of, and certainly was due some attention. She had never felt emotions with her magic before, at least, not in anyone human.

"Magic?" Clarkson frowned. "You should talk to the Colonel. Even though I've worked with him for a long time, I don't know much about Magitek Knights," he said. His eyes returned to looking for Sherwood amongst the rubble of buildings.

"Sorry," Terra mumbled. She felt incredibly stupid for bringing the topic up. Of course he wouldn't know anything about it. How could she have thought it was something to talk about? Now-

Clarkson had noticed the embarrassment on her face. "If it makes you feel better to talk about it," he put a comforting hand on her shoulder, "then go ahead. It'll help with the nervousness and I like to learn," Clarkson gave her a meaningful and warm smile.

Stunned, Terra left the gloved hand on her shoulder and smiled back. "The blackness vanished whenever I healed her, so it's probably nothing," she said. "I'll talk to Norris about it."

Clarkson nodded. "Well don't forget to tell me," he added.

---

Sherwood returned, appearing suddenly in their midst without anyone but Locke noticing. "It's clear. We can follow a decently hidden path back into the eastern woods," he told Clarkson.

"Alright, let's move," Clarkson said.

The five snuck through the broken walls easily, climbing over the rubble and leaving the fortress city just as the first rays of light flickered off the plains of snow. In the distance, they could see the battlefield that Miles had told them about. Black dots littered the plains north of Fanshaw. They looked almost like a tree-line the way they were spread in the distance, but it was actually the burnt remains of people trying to flee the city. There were likely thousands of corpses out there.

Clarkson looked back at the walls, the huge black stone stretching far above them so that they could not see anything within Fanshaw. His gaze followed the smooth stone until it was marred, fire that had melted the stone into liquid and helped tear a gaping hole for the invaders to attack through. It was artillery; Clarkson could recognize the tell-tale signs of Heavy-Siege Armors. There were many a broken form of other Magitek units, crushed in the battle trying to defend their city. ATA's and fourth-gens alike had fallen to the power of elemental beams, and they were probably not the last.

The walls had been blown apart by a large force, much greater than a single division. Clarkson shook his head sadly and turned away from the city. Soldiers perhaps, but monsters nonetheless. He doubted Fanshaw would ever recover, not after a slaughter like this. It was now a ghost town and would remain so until the end of time.

"Clarkson," Locke caught his attention.

"I was just thinking about the city," the blond haired soldier turned away from the ruins left by the civil war. They were still well ahead of Terra, who was helping Anna in place of Locke. "Why did you switch places with Terra?"

"Forget that," Locke lowered his voice. "Listen, there's something I think you should know about Anna." He gestured subtly towards the teenaged girl. Beads of sweat were running down her neck, the exertion along with injuries she bore was taxing her stamina. When Clarkson nodded at him to continue, Locke lowered his voice even more. "There's something wrong with her, it's just a feeling, but I swear she hates us."

Clarkson straightened. He casually glanced back at Anna, who was hobbling beside Terra without some much as a whimper despite how tired she was. "Locke," he said. "Are you aware what she's been through?"

Locke nodded sadly.

"I think there's a very good reason why she hates us, but it's not our fault we were born this way," Clarkson continued. He paused, thought about the situation and sighed. "Tell Sherwood anyhow, he should know about this."

Locke narrowed his eyes. That, he was not going to do. He had made a promise and knowing what Sherwood was...

They kept low and used what hills were available around the countryside to keep out of sight. Locke returned to watching over Anna protectively, while Clarkson joined Sherwood at the very front. They were almost to the tree-line now and Fanshaw was far behind them.

Sherwood glanced east. The sun hung above the horizon, its light visible through the mountains of Strachan. A cold mist could be seen hanging in the air. "We're late," he announced.

"The Colonel won't mind," Clarkson grumbled. His eyes wandered across the woods in front of them, only about five minutes away. "Let's-"

"Get down!" Terra screamed.

Surprised, Locke threw himself and Anna to the ground. They hit the snow painfully while Clarkson and Sherwood instinctively drew their weapons instead.

A ball of fire smashed into the ground in front of them. Snow vaporized on impact and a ball of steam exploded into the air while a shockwave slammed both Imperial soldiers onto their backs.

Terra could sense them now; they had been hiding their presence from her by magic. There was a Magitek Knight out there! Flames danced from her fingers and the power inside her began to sing its song. She gritted her teeth, resolved to resist the seduction, when something... dark invaded her scans of surrounding area. She spun around and almost reeled from the darkness, the overwhelming disease-like taint that had spread unchecked. It had been like a predator, Terra had seen it slowly encroach despite all the healing magic. Then in the chaos of battle, as fear gripped the heart of the weak, it closed its deadly trap.

"Locke!" Terra screamed. She had to warn him!

A second ball of fire flew right through the smoke at her. Terra brought up a protective shell a heartbeat before it engulfed her. The fireball exploded upon her shield and flames licked at her arms; the yellow aura could not been seen in the sheer ferocity of the inferno. A second column of fire screamed towards her and added to the blaze, angry red flames hungrily devouring the little air that remained between it and a young magic-wielding woman. Steaming hot mist found her exposed wrists between cloak and gloves. Terra screamed out in pain and almost lost control of her shields.

The inner power threatened to overwhelm her and Terra was very close letting it rush to the surface. Here she was: barely fighting off magic from her own elemental domain, scant moments from being burned into ashes, and she was holding back. She gritted her teeth in anger. She had been shamed when Norris had noticed her weakness, how she had almost gotten herself and Locke killed because she wasn't willing to kill a monster. A monster!

But still she held back. No matter how she rationalized it, Terra was afraid of her power surfacing again.

---

Locke could not believe how thick the smoke had gotten but no matter how difficult it had been to see, it was impossible to mistake the fireball traveling towards him and Anna. He realized very quickly how useless his shortbow was.

He saw how close the fireball was and without a second thought, he grabbed Anna and pushed her to the ground. He threw himself on top of her. He would protect her, even against this!

Flames exploded on impact as the spell exploded against the ground. Searing heat made Locke cry out in pain, and even as he was lifted by the shockwave of the exploding gases, he knew his cloak was completely aflame. He lost his bow as he smashed into the ground shoulder-first. A sudden spike of agony tore up his left arm while he continued to spin through the snow.

Sheer will kept him conscious. Locke rolled onto his front and pushed himself off the ground. He arm hurt something terrible -- the muscles felt like they were going to snap -- and he could feel something warm run down his face. Fortunately, rolling through the snow had snuffed out the flames.

Then he heard the screaming, not of fear, but of uncontrolled rage.

Locke fell back into the snow, hitting his head against something hard. The blow to his face no longer hurt as stars began to invade his vision. His head swam and dizziness was threatening to overtake him.

Her eyes were the only thing he could concentrate on, brown eyes full of rage, but also pain and fear. She was screaming at him but with the ringing noise in his head, Locke couldn't figure out what she was saying. Her brown hair had fallen in front of her face and she was gesturing wildly at him with a knife whose blade had been painted a dull black.

His knife!

Anna tried to stab him, and it would have succeeded had he not twisted out of the way. "What are you doing?" he shouted. Snow was in his eyes and as he tried to blink it away, his vision cleared only to reveal thick black smoke that obscured everything. He drew his remaining knife.

Something struck him in the midsection and Locke keeled over. The knife fell into the snow just as Locke did, the familiar cold wet embrace not at all comforting. Locke cried out in pain, Anna had stabbed him in the right arm. He rolled onto his back and saw that she was on top of him, his second unbloodied knife in her hands. Her eyes were wild with rage, and she was screaming incoherently.

This was not going to be easy.

---

The flames were now a wall that almost completely surrounded her. Standing in a puddle of melted snow that was beginning to boil, Terra heard Locke -- her friend -- scream out in pain.

The fear vanished as anger rushed to the surface. With a wave of her hand, the blazing inferno vanished and left behind a wall of steam and smoke. She stepped into the thick screen, focused at her task. She had to save her friends!

In front of her, two men cloaked in white appeared through the fog of steam. Swords raised, they screamed a battle cry and charged at her.

Terra took a step forward, unsurprised for she could feel sense the darkness now. She pointed towards the nearest. "Burn!" she snarled.

The man screamed as flames suddenly burst forth, called by the magic that devoured his flesh. He dropped his broadsword and fell to the ground as his clothes burnt and his skin bubbled. Black smoke rose from his body as he screamed in pain.

Terra turned to the second.

An arrow came from behind her and embedded itself deep into the chest of the man, ripping through his cloak and leather armor with ease. A second arrow landed squarely between his surprised eyes and he fell to the ground with a solid thunk.

Behind Terra, Sherwood nocked another arrow.

"Terra, get back!" Clarkson shouted as he grabbed her shoulder. He roughly pulled her back and met yet another assailant with his short sword. Blades clanged as metal clashed against metal. Clarkson's skill won the exchange and brought both swords into the snow. With a scream of rage he brought his shoulder into the man's midsection and both fell into the ground.

Terra had not even noticed the third man, instead focused on the mage behind them. The Magitek Knight was dressed all in grey, blending into the snow superbly, and was chanting something. He clutched at a white sash and pointed at her.

Instinctively, Terra brought one hand up, palm forward, and watched as a thundering blast of lightning shattered against her shield. The yellow shell faded and was replaced with green hue. Terra gritted her teeth as she intensified her efforts. Blinding yellow bolts exploded from the magical battle, liquid electricity jumping from the point of conflict and tearing apart the ground beneath.

This was the one that had attacked them. The one that had tried to kill her, Locke, Clarkson and Sherwood.

Terra brought her other hand up and smiled when the Magitek Knight's eyes widened in horror.

In the blink of an eye, it was over. His lightning spell crashed against Terra's shield and rippled through the air back at its creator. The man in grey was blown high into the air, his body already smoking from his own spell, and landed in the powdered snow with a sickening crunch.

With another arrow, Sherwood brought a fifth man to the ground. The archer scanned the area around them. He heard Locke's scream and ran.

---

Locke could feel the blood running down the side of his chest, but ignored it. He grabbed Anna and forced her back to the ground. She was tiny and ill-equipped to fight Locke's muscular advantage, but her ferocity and his injuries evened the odds.

"Stop it Anna!" Locke shouted. He twisted the knives out of her grasp. A moment passed between the two, and then Locke tossed aside his weapons. He couldn't kill her, he had promised to help her! Instead, he tackled her once more, trying to restrain the flailing girl.

It was futile though, and after wrestling for a few more moments, Anna had got to her feet. She screamed incoherently when suddenly, the mask of anger disappeared. She grunted twice, and then toppled to the ground.

Locke felt his fists tighten when he saw two arrows embedded deep in the back of Anna's skull.

---

Clarkson had pulled a dagger and held it against his attacker's throat. "Who are you?" Clarkson demanded, bringing the blade ever closer to the man's throat.

The man grunted back. "Die savage!"

Clarkson fell backwards as he clutched at his stomach. A knife stuck out of his leather armor.

Before the attacker was back on his feet, fire engulfed the man. He let out a deathly scream and fell to the ground, motionless.

Clarkson grunted as he pulled the knife out of his stomach. He tossed the blade to the ground nonchalantly and glanced up to thank Terra. He was embarrassed at being rescued by the woman he was supposed to be protecting, but better embarrassment than a fatal wound.

Terra was standing there staring at the blackened, impossible to recognize cadaver of the last ambusher. Her eyes were wide open in shock and she was trembling. She looked repulsed at the scene of death in front of her.

"What's wrong?" Clarkson called to Terra. Terra didn't respond and turned away so that he couldn't see her face.

Sherwood appeared on the scene. Both sleeves were still down, but the shortbow he held in his hand was nocked with another arrow.

"Last man's dead," Clarkson announced.

Sherwood coldly let go of the drawstring, his arrow embedding itself into the back of the smoking cadaver's skull. "Now he's dead," Sherwood replied as he drew another arrow.

Clarkson glanced up and returned the cool, collected look. "That was unnecessary."

Sherwood shrugged. "I'll keep watch while you treat that wound."

"It's minor, the chain shirt beneath the leather stopped the blade," Clarkson grumbled. Still, the metal links had twisted and drew blood, so Clarkson looked around for his pack.

"Sherwood!"

Clarkson's heart sank when he heard that enraged voice. The smoke from all the fireballs had cleared and as he turned, he could see that Locke was standing over the body of Anna, dead with two arrows in her. Clarkson swore colourfully.

Sherwood met Locke's angry glare with equal distaste. "Don't give me some self-righteous holier-than-thou speech, she was going to kill you and I expect nothing less than thanks for saving your life," Sherwood snapped.

Clarkson blinked in surprise.

"She was attacking me, yes," Locke growled. Dried blood was all over his face, and there was fresh trails running down his arms. "But you didn't have to kill her!"

"No? I suppose I should have tackled her and wasted my time while everyone else is dying? That would have definitely fulfilled my job -- my promise! -- to protect this team, wouldn't it?" Sherwood retorted.

That, surprisingly to Clarkson, silenced Locke.

"Next time Locke, finish your enemy the first chance you get. Had this been a bigger ambush, the time wasted while you wrestled with that crazy girl might have killed us all. That means me, Clarkson, and your little girlfriend over there," Sherwood pointed at Terra. "At least she did what was necessary without holding back. I suggest you do the same, unless you want Terra's death on your conscience as well," Sherwood turned back to Clarkson. "I'll check the surrounding area now."

Clarkson nodded swiftly. While the two had been arguing, he had pulled out bandages and a leather wrapped flask. The bitter blue concoction had gone down quick, he still grimaced at the horrible taste. His wound was now wrapped with clean white cloth and he stood without much pain. "Locke, how did she get the drop on you? You told me you had doubts about her," he asked.

That took Locke down another notch. The anger on his face had completely vanished and was replaced with a blank, pathetic look.

"Don't answer that, it's not important," Clarkson quickly added before things got further out of hand. He shook his head. "And we just lost our only link to figuring out what happened in Fanshaw too," he mumbled to himself.

Locke stared at the lifeless body of Anna for a while. When he finally tore his eyes away from the corpse of the young girl, he inadvertently made eye-contact with Terra several meters away. She was sweating from exertion and her fine clothes were slightly charred from magical-battle. Though her eyes were cast at he ground, there was something there he recognized: pain. Locke suddenly felt such shame that he turned away from her. There was sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach.

He ignored the blood that had run down the length of his arm and dripped onto the snow. None of his injuries hurt as much as the realization of what had happened.

"Hey!" Clarkson interrupted his thoughts. "We better get out of here before their-" he pointed at the dead men around them, "-friends come for them."

Locke sheathed his bloodied blades in a despondent manner. He followed them slowly, overwhelmingly ashamed by the sheer number of mistakes he had made and his utter impotence at keeping promises. He shook his head, mortified.

How could it have been wrong to try to save Anna's life?

Sherwood couldn't possibly be right, Locke mumbled to himself. He couldn't.


	12. Tears of Ice

**The Twelfth Chapter - Tears of Ice**

Norris rubbed his eyes, frustrated and fatigued. He brushed the snow off of his beard and glanced back at Clarkson, who was reporting all that had transpired in Fanshaw. His team had definitely seen the lion's share of action. 

"And this girl," Miles asked, "she's..."

"-dead," Clarkson finished. "Sherwood took her down with help from Locke."

Miles folded his arms and shook his head. The one-eyed warrior turned to Norris and waited for his commanding officer to say something. The younger soldier towered over Norris and offered a sharp contrast between the two senior officers. While Norris donned simple flowing robes, Miles wore Imperial brown leather and an armory strapped to his sides. Terra found herself comparing the pair to Strago and Cyan.

"Given her betrayal and the possibility of further ambushers, your actions were justified," Norris decided. He frowned and stroked his beard in thought. "What other information do you have on this girl, aside from her name?" Norris asked.

Clarkson cleared his throat. "Nothing, we were pressed for time," he answered with a hint of embarrassment.

"So we have a girl who was lucky to have been left for dead after the invaders finished with her. This child, of whom we know nothing but her name, was healed and saved from what was certain death. Then she snaps and tries to kill the very people that were helping her, coincidentally at the same time an unknown team of soldiers ambushes you ," Norris summarized. He raised an eyebrow. "I was hoping to find answers, not more questions."

Clarkson shifted his feet anxiously. Though it was a casual report, he was still standing under the scrutiny of both his commanders. Locke, Terra, and Sherwood were sitting patiently behind him, equally uncomfortable. The rest of the men were packing up camp and preparing for a trek back through the mountains.

Norris sighed. He leaned back against a bare tree trunk and tried to make sense of the situation.

"They were not expecting Terra," Miles said what Norris had been thinking. "They were not expecting anyone capable of wielding magic, or else they would never have attacked without better odds."

"Terra," Norris looked over at the half-Esper. "How skilled was the man in grey?" It was an important question; he needed to know what they were dealing with.

Terra shrugged. "I don't know."

"You have to have gotten something from him. Was he even close to your abilities?" Norris pressed on. "They might have been a scouting force that took matters in their own hands, or they were black-ops... or even worse."

Terra grumbled. "I'm not sure, I've definitely fought better," she answered vaguely.

"Norris, they couldn't have been just a mere scouting force," Sherwood put in. "They might have been a tiny force but they had a Magitek Knight with them. The grunts were quality too, one overpowered Clarkson in hand-to-hand."

Clarkson cleared his throat.

Norris sighed. He had made up his mind. "Miles," he grumbled.

"Yeah, alright," Miles answered. He already knew what the Colonel was planning and didn't seem to like the idea any better. He strolled off.

Norris turned to Terra. "Please, walk with me. The rest of you stay here," he ordered.

Terra shot a confused look at Locke, but he was staring into space. She got up and followed Norris into the thicket. "What is it, Norris?"

The old Magitek Knight pursed his lips together. "I wanted to thank you personally for what you did back there," he said as they strolled into a quiet spot near the center of camp. Footprints were everywhere as supplies had just been recently packed and moved uphill. "We haven't gotten along very well recently, I've been under a lot of pressure and I doubt you've been under any less." He turned to her and smiled warmly. "You saved two of my best men back there. I've been through a lot with Clarkson and Sherwood. There's a reason why I assigned them to protect you in Albrook."

Terra shifted her feet uncomfortably.

"I don't presume to know why you're here, if the General wouldn't tell me, I don't expect you to either. With your reputation as a Returner, I had been under the impression that you knew as much as I, and volunteered despite of that," Norris sighed deeply. "It's... easy to forget that you're young and a civilian. I don't think I've met anyone with magic that wasn't part of the armed forces, so it's something new for me as well."

"I'm not sure what to say," Terra muttered.

"Don't," Norris turned back the way the came. "Just thank you, for saving the lives of my men."

"You're... welcome," Terra answered. But before she remembered to ask about the strange dark aura, they had already gotten back. Everyone was waiting, even Miles, who had brought another soldier in tow. Terra took her seat again.

"Gossman," Norris addressed the newcomer. "You are in command, Major. Take the group to Gwendolen Ford and wait for us there."

"Yes sir," Gossman replied. "How long before I assume you're dead and take the good news back to Alysworth?" he quipped with a grin on his face.

"Two hours," Norris answered without even a hint of a smile. "Sherwood, I'd like to have a private word with you. As for the rest, you're dismissed."

"What's going on? Norris, I still need to talk to you about something," Terra stood. Everyone was getting up but nothing had been said. She had to ask Norris about what she had felt: that suffocating darkness.

"You can talk to him later, Miles and the Colonel are going to check the dead ambushers," Clarkson replied. He put a hand on her shoulder and pulled her away from the commanding officers. "Something we should have done, but didn't have the time for," he said in a lower voice.

"Won't he need one of us to lead him back?" Terra asked.

Clarkson raised an eyebrow. "This is Colonel Norris Ferdinand."

"I hid our tracks," Terra said with a frown.

"Colonel Norris Ferdinand," Clarkson repeated himself with a smile. He turned his attention to his new commander.

"Clarkson, what happened to your cloak?" Gossman asked.

"I leant it to the dead girl," Clarkson replied. "I'll get another one from Anthony."

Gossman nodded. "Your entire team will need spares," he said. "Those unsightly burns from your little mage encounter are going to give us away. And while you're there, check in with Anthony. Who knows what else the Magitek Knight might have hit you with."

Terra turned away from the soldiers, feeling very out of place. She folded her arms around her stomach and walked through the temporary campgrounds. Her eyes took in the scenery about her; snow crystals twinkling in the sunlight on top of bare branches, icicles that sparkled in a rainbow of colors. The winter landscape would have been quite breathtaking.

But she was thinking of the man in grey that had attacked her. She could still see the look of surprise and terror on his face when she ended their little struggle with her superior strength. Terra licked her lips as she thought about the Magitek Knight. A shiver ran down her spine as she remembered how easily the power had flowed through her. She recalled how she had looked at the first man, his bloodshot eyes wild as he charged through the smoke with his sword held over his head, and willed his blood to boil. It had been so easy.

She wandered deeper into the woods, brushing past the bare bushes and frost-covered trees, and found solace inside the thicket.

Terra closed her eyes, sickened by what she had done. She had fought the urge, blocked out the whispers of power and had persevered. Yet still it had been there: Her birthright. Unimaginable power had rushed to the surface when she was in trouble and tried to overwhelm her reason. How could she keep fighting if it only seduced her when she needed it?

Her eyes snapped open, barely suppressing a yelp of surprise. Clarkson had draped a clean white cloak over her shoulders. "You look worried," he said.

Terra had been so deep in thought she didn't realize anyone else was nearby. "Sorry, I was just thinking."

"Then I'll get out of your way, but I just wanted to thank you for what you did back there. The man was stronger than I had expected and caught me off guard," he laughed sheepishly. "It's practically never happened, but I'm lucky that you were watching over me."

Terra glanced up at Clarkson's face. It was such a kind expression, yet he was thanking her for how callously she had incinerated someone with the power of her mind.

Her silence worried Clarkson. "Listen, I've only known you for a few weeks," he started. "It might just be a bad impression, but I get the feeling you're ashamed of killing back there," Clarkson squeezed her shoulder. "If that's true, don't be. You saved our lives and there's nothing wrong with that."

Terra brushed his arm away. "That's not the problem."

"Good. You have a powerful gift. I'm glad you're with us." Clarkson had misinterpreted her response. "I was also thinking about what you said earlier... about not expecting an apology from Sherwood. It's a little harsh, but I can see why you think that way about him. He's not exactly as friendly as the Colonel."

Terra shifted awkwardly. "It's only been the last week he's been like that. Before that, he was pretty nice to me," she answered, gladly taking the opportunity to ignore her conflicted thoughts.

"You have to understand that's just the way he is," Clarkson explained. His lip curled up in a smile. "It's funny really, how the two of us ended up in the same unit."

"Did you two know each other before?"

Clarkson nodded. "We were neighbours growing up," he answered. "Then his family moved to Tzen after it joined the Empire. Lots of opportunities there to get rich quick, I was jealous that my father never thought of doing it." He sighed deeply and put an arm on Terra's shoulder. "We were the lucky ones though, rebels hit the city real bad and his family was killed. Parents and a younger sister, all gone. I didn't even hear about it, the letters stopped coming one day and that was it."

The Imperial straightened and gestured around them. "I wanted to see the world, so I joined the army. Years later, I'm on a ship heading to Jidoor when he showed up," Clarkson laughed sadly. "We had both changed a lot since our youth, you should be glad that he was nice to you earlier. It's not common."

"So you two have worked together since then?" Terra asked. It explained why they seemed to know what the other was always thinking.

"Not at all! But after ISF was disbanded, the Colonel created a team based in Albrook and we were both chosen. Small world, right?"

Terra shrugged. "I guess."

"He's never been the same though, I miss the days back in Eggleston. Then again, I can't blame him," the smile vanished from his face. "It's hard not to change when you lose everything you care for, and everyone that you ever loved. You can understand that, can't you?"

Terra swallowed. "Of course," she lied.

"Great," Clarkson patted her on the back. "And don't worry; I'll leave some hints with Sherwood to treat you better. He's probably stressed out trying to protect everything he can."

---

Norris pressed his lips together.

Miles was behind him, looking around nervously. In distance were dark clouds, but for now they were in the open under bright sunlight. In addition, they were within sight of the once-formidable walls of Fanshaw. The winter sun shone upon the fields of snow and bright light reflected from the vast plains until they were absorbed by the black walls surrounding the city. They were in the open and he didn't like it.

"Miles, I know her," Norris said quietly.

Miles shrugged, knowing that Norris would not see him. His superior was crouched on the ground, concentrating on the scarred face of Anna. Miles checked that his knives were close at hand. Something did not feel right.

"I think we're in a lot of trouble," Norris continued. The old man stood up quickly, scratching at the thick white beard on his chin.

"So who is she?" Miles asked. He didn't really care. Something else was bothering him. His eyes wandered across the snow, taking note of where its smooth, undisturbed flatness was broken by the chaos of battle. The fight had been there. He could see a myriad of footsteps, telltale signs of struggles on the ground, blood spilled onto the snow, and puddles of now-solid ice where magical flames had burned.

Norris mumbled to himself as he continued to scratch his chin. "Her name is Anna Miriam," he declared.

Miles spun around. "Miriam?" he echoed in surprise.

"Yes, I take it you've heard the name," Norris' eyes wandered across the young girl's facial scars. She had been through a lot, more than any child that young should have been. His heart ached for her even if she had tried to kill his men.

"Even us grunts hear rumours pretty quickly," Miles growled. "The stories of Mistress Miriam, or so she was called in my unit, were pretty popular because they were so outrageous."

Norris nodded unconsciously. He knelt back down and gently closed Anna's eyes. She would be asleep for eternity now. There was no need for them to stay open.

"So this is her daughter or something? I didn't think the rumours were true, but if you're talking about them..." Miles trailed off.

Norris covered Anna's face with the bloodied hood of Clarkson's cloak. "Yes," he answered absently. "The Emperor, despite preaching chastity and morality, had a child out of wedlock."

"Funny that you would know something like that," Miles remarked.

"Secrecy was only second to ensuring their safety and for both, the Emperor asked favours of his best Magitek Knights," Norris answered as he drudged up long buried memories. "I just happen to be one of those."

Miles found himself staring back at Fanshaw and thinking about the abominable scene in the city center. Whatever bothered him had been there as well, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

Norris stood up. "Anna was a strong girl," he said softly. "She took after her mother: intelligent, beautiful, quick to learn and impossible to keep caged up. The Emperor had entrusted the two with a great gift." He turned to Miles. "Anna would never be anywhere without her mother. That means Drummond was here for Miriam's Gift."

"And that's what's so troublesome?" Miles asked half-heartedly.

"That gem box is a magical artifact," Norris grumbled. "I have no idea what's the extent of its powers, but Drummond has some of the most powerful Magitek Knights on his side. It's quite possible they know something about it that we don't," he cursed colourfully. "For every answer found we end up with two more questions. This is starting to piss me off."

Miles looked down at the charred remains of one of the ambushers. It was the first time he had seen a body of their attackers! He bent down and rolled the cadaver onto its back so he could the face of the enemy.

His hands passed through empty air.

Miles' eyes widened. "Forget Miriam's Gift," he growled. "That's not trouble," he said as he realized what was concerning him.

Norris took a deep breath and turned away from the dead girl. "What do you mean?"

"We've been fooled. The bodies Norris," Miles kicked the cadaver at his feet. His foot passed effortlessly through the illusion. "They've been dragged away just like in the city," Miles growled.

Norris scanned the empty area. He swore, angry at himself for being distracted by his memories of the past. "Someone's been here," he said as he continued to look around. No footsteps or any other signs anyone else had been at the site of battle. "The same ones that attacked Fanshaw, if this ritual is any indication," he added.

They hadn't met anyone while following Terra's trail though. Norris had taught the girl how to hide their tracks, but even then there were ways of scrying through the magical trickery. The illusions meant Magitek Knights and that...

They both broke into a run for Gwendolen Ford.

---

Cyan growled and tipped over his king.

"Checkmate," Relm grinned as she mentally let go of the white knight, a soft blue light trailing behind it. The chess piece dropped back to the old board and teetered for a moment before stabilizing. "That makes six in a row," she beamed.

Cyan could feel his ears redden. For the past few days, he had played handicapped, though he didn't tell Relm that. The young girl quickly caught on to his strategies though, and as loss after loss mounted, Cyan had finally decided to hold nothing back.

His black king was still rolling on the board.

"Infuriating," Cyan grumbled. "Perhaps you cheated while my back was turned, I'm sure your magic is up to that task," he faked a sore loser's attitude. Relm had purposely used blue trailing light to show exactly what she was doing with her spells.

Relm frowned. "I won fair and square," she pouted and folded her arms. "Now you promised!"

Cyan sighed. Inwardly, he was impressed with how quickly Relm had grown in the game. She had an analytical mind that seemed to always stay a step ahead of him. It was incredible, and Cyan felt a sense of pride whenever he looked at the blond-haired girl. Owain had been much the same way, far smarter than his age would suggest.

"You promised!" Relm repeated. She had taken his pause as refusal.

Cyan growled again. He stood up and walked over to Paisley, who was lounged in an old wicker chair reading. The young man looked up, an expression of surprise on his face. He had been so intent on his book that he didn't notice Cyan's approach.

"If I could borrow a dagger," Cyan asked.

Paisley narrowed his eyes. "What for?" he asked. The soldier was clearly uncomfortable with the notion of giving Cyan any weapon. The Knight's longsword laid outside, probably covered with a layer of snow now. Both Paisley and Irving had gradually let Cyan visit as long as he wanted, though they never allowed him to stay the night. They had grown comfortable with each other's presence.

"I lost," Cyan answered vaguely.

Paisley frowned. He fidgeted in his seat.

Relm got out of her seat and rushed over to the two men. She grinned mischievously. "I won again, so I get a lock from his ponytail!"

"'tis no ponytail," Cyan grumbled.

Paisley sighed. "Well I'm ignoring enough orders as is. I can't give you a weapon, Cyan. Perhaps the razor blade would be enough?"

Relm frowned. "It won't cut right and the hairs will be all frayed," she complained.

"Sorry kiddo, I just can't do it," Paisley answered. He lifted his book and continued reading.

"Bah! What a fuddy-duddy," Relm yelled. She stormed to the other end of the cottage in frustration, though considering how small the cottage was, the statement was easily lost.

Cyan watched Paisley carefully. The young man had made another mistake today. He was a good actor, good enough that Cyan was almost fooled into complacency. But his initial assessment had been correct.

Paisley was an assassin.

He could act unassuming, and the boyish unbecoming looks made him easy to ignore. But his eyes were too sharp, he moved too quickly at times and there was an air of decisiveness around him. Irving was a mass of muscle and probably a decent warrior, but Paisley was a devious man and the true danger. He planned ahead, trying to deceive Cyan with carefully calculated mannerisms.

Donnach had tried to mislead Cyan as well. He had ignored Paisley and given orders direct to Cyan, as if he didn't trust Paisley enough to explain the rules. It was another dishonest, shrewd, but artful play. Cyan expected no less from an Imperial soldier as elite as Donnach.

Yes, this was a game. Cyan had watched it unfold about him. The disappearance of General Meras aboard her ship the first morning after their pact was struck, the relocation of Relm to this supply depot near the frontlines, the escort that Brigadier Starson had led, their journey from Tzen to the southernmost reaches of a province that bore the same name, even the things he had seen while riding in the Ninth Army. Everything had been carefully calculated.

The question was whether Cyan could figure out what the point of this game was. It was the only important point that he didn't understand, the treacherous Imperials had hidden that very well from him. Their deceitfulness was a skill finely-honed.

But as each day passed, Cyan's plan to rescue Relm and leave this god-forsaken place became clearer in his mind. Soon, very soon, he would be able to act.

Until then.

"Dear one, we shalt make due with the razor," Cyan called out to the pouting girl. He turned his back to Paisley, but only physically. Cyan Garamonde, Knight of Doma, never let his guard down in the presence of Imperials.

---

Terra found herself at the rear of their small group. A few men had ahead of them, to scout the area, while the rest slowly trudged their way through the thick snow with the majority of their equipment. Considering how long they had already spent in the mountains and how long they planned on staying behind enemy lines, the great amount of gear they were carrying was not unexpected. However, with Miles and Norris both gone, as well as the men scouting, Terra found herself trudging with twice the load she was used to.

Not that she was carrying anything truly heavy, but she was definitely slowing down and beginning to feel aches throughout her back. She lifted the pack higher and willed herself to walk a bit faster.

Her eyes wandered across the backs of Sherwood and Locke. The latter was dragging his feet behind Sherwood, staring at the ground and blindly following footsteps in the snow. Locke...

"How are you holding up?"

Terra glanced over at Clarkson. The blond soldier had fallen back and was now in-stride with her. He looked concerned; a frown creased his hooded face. His muscles flexed as he lifted his own pack higher.

"I'm fine," Terra replied. Her eyes returned to the trail, carefully walking past the frozen remains of fallen trees. "Gossman gave me the lightest pack there was."

Clarkson chuckled. "Gossman didn't even want to do that much. He had to swallow his pride quite a bit to ask you to help out. It's not like him to ask a woman for help."

"Why's that?" Terra asked. Anything was better than doting on what had happened in Fanshaw, she thought.

Clarkson lowered his voice. "Gossman has a soft spot for you," he winked. "He's got a daughter back home, so he's been going out of his way to make things easier on you. He normally doesn't bother with carrying the heavier packs, the big shield of his is enough to worry about and he's used to ordering around the grunts. But we're short a few shoulders and thinning out the scouting curtain just wasn't an option."

"He's been making things easier for me?" Terra echoed. This was news to her. Gossman had not exactly been friendly towards her; she barely knew who he was! Only Sherwood and Clarkson had gone to lengths to befriend her, and Sherwood had almost killed her. Clarkson, on the other hand, had been a protective shadow ever since she stepped foot in Albrook.

"Not so loud," Clarkson admonished her. He looked up, but they were quite away from the group and in no danger of Gossman overhearing them. "Yes, he's been busting our balls most of the way here. The Colonel's given standing orders for us to treat you like one of the men, but Gossman's gotten his way unofficially," Clarkson grinned. "Normally that doesn't happen -- the Colonel's word is law -- but it's difficult to treat you like a man when you're obviously not one."

Terra frowned. "Gossman hasn't exactly been kind to me."

Clarkson shook his head. "Like Sherwood, he's better at doing than speaking. Amazing that he found himself a wife, really. Although I think she was the one that chased him down, if Miles can be trusted with his stories," Clarkson laughed lightly.

Terra smiled back. "It seems like you know everyone here," she said.

"Everyone except you and Locke," Clarkson pointed out.

"Well I don't know anything about you either," Terra replied. "You talk about everyone but yourself."

Clarkson scoffed. "Maybe a deal could be made here."

The trail they took curved around a great peak of rock that jutted out of the ground and stretched upwards. The path twisted away and started down a steady decline. Their footing became treacherous and Terra found herself concentrating on her steps rather than the conversation with Clarkson. A bead of sweat ran down her back and she felt somewhat dizzy. Her pack seemed to be getting heavier. Terra wiped her sweat-covered brow.

"Anyhow," Clarkson said. "Do you know what's wrong with your friend? He's been abnormally quiet, ever since the fight."

Hearing those words from Clarkson made Terra realize that something really was wrong with Locke. It wasn't because he was an Imperial soldier, although she admitted that compassion was unexpected. Instead, it confirmed that her feelings were actually substantiated. Terra looked ahead at the shapes of the rest of the group. They had fallen quite far behind because of her fatigue. "Locke," she cried out. When there was no answer, she increased her pace and shouted again: "Locke!"

There was still no answer. Terra grumbled under her breath and forced her legs to move even faster.

"Wait!" Clarkson grabbed her shoulder suddenly and she nearly fell backwards.

"What?" she asked. She shifted her pack to ease the weight on her shoulders.

"Are you hiding our tracks with magic?" Clarkson asked.

Terra nodded, slightly confused by his sudden change of conversation. "Every so often I cast a spell to-"

"Did you just cast one?" Clarkson cut her off.

"No, why?"

"Then why are there no footsteps in front of us?" Clarkson pointed forward.

Terra looked in front of them, now very confused. Her eyes wandered through the peaceful forest, and returned to meet Clarkson's. Something felt... off. Her hands weaved concentric circles in the air as she whispered a spell as quickly as she could.

Clarkson felt a strange tingle that began at his neck and traveled down to his feet. "What was-" he stopped abruptly. "Where did-"

Terra raised her head.

The shapes of their friends were gone.

"-they go..." Clarkson finished. His question trailed off, as the answer was no longer important.

"We've been spelled," Terra explained. She glanced over her shoulder at Clarkson apprehensively. "Some sort of illusion or something, I don't know. But only Norris is a mage and he-"

Clarkson dropped his pack to the ground, the bag smashing into the thick snow with a solid thump. He grabbed her shoulder. "Drop it," he ordered as he drew his sword with the other hand.

Terra let go of her pack. "But I don't sense any-"

Clarkson grabbed her hand and pulled her into the thicket.

---

Gossman's eyes followed the cliff wall until it seemed to stretch into the now-overcast sky, briefly admiring how high it was. The cliff was on their right side, they had followed an old trail that cut quite near the Strachan mountains. Flakes of snow drifted onto his face, another winter storm had made its way past the mountains. Gossman leaned against a nearby tree, pieces of bark splintering apart as he put pressure on his gloved hand.

His sudden pause had stopped the entire group. They waited patiently, most grateful for the rest.

"We should be nearing Gwendolen Ford," Gossman announced. "From what I remember of this place, it's open and visible from the woods around it. I don't want to-"

Locke had almost bumped into Sherwood, still staring dejectedly at the ground while following their footsteps. Sherwood glared at him and Locke mumbled an apology under his breath.

Annoyed at the interruption, Gossman turned to the rear and growled at the two.

Aware of his surroundings again, Locke looked around for Terra. When he didn't see her, his heart skipped a beat. "Where's Terra?" he asked.

Sherwood narrowed his eyes when he realized Locke was right. "Clarkson was just with her, only a couple paces behind us," he stated. He had instinctively dropped his pack and shook his sleeves, ensuring they had not caught in the trigger mechanism of his crossbows.

Gossman felt a tingle down his spine. It was a sense of imminent danger, something that had saved his life many a time even if he didn't understand why it happened.

"Terra?" Locke shouted. His eyes darted from side to side, panic gripping his heart more and more as each second passed.

"Quiet!" Gossman snapped. "Do you want to announce to the entire world where we are?"

Locke ignored him and dropped his pack. He started back the way they came, first walking at a quick pace and then breaking into a run.

Sherwood raised his arm and pointed at Locke. His finger hovered above the trigger at his palm, but he did not fire. While the girl he could understand, the fact that Clarkson had also disappeared was certainly worth investigating. He lowered his arm and watched Locke run off.

Gossman looked up above them again. There had been a strange noise above. It had been the original reason why he had stopped. His eyes scanned the trees above when he finally noticed it.

"Avalanche!" he cried out.

They were all well-trained men, each having plenty of years of experience fighting in the mountains. That one word was more than enough to snap five relaxed men into action, each immediately dropping the heaviest of their gear and charged towards safety. Deep enough into the wood and the trees would block the torrent of snow. They had little other options without their Colonel.

But even as the first flakes of snow drifted onto Sherwood's face, the brown-haired archer stared into the onslaught of rushing snow with little fear. His sharp eyes had caught something within all that white death.

Grey robes. Flowing grey robes.

In a breath, his shortbow was drawn and an arrow from his quiver cocked. He closed his right eye as he aimed. There was no question about it; there was another Magitek Knight. Just like the one that had nearly killed him and Clarkson.

"Sherwood you idiot!" Gossman shouted.

Sherwood barely heard his friend. His concentration was great, but it was the roar of the mountain that made it impossible for him to hear anything. The mass of white snow was making it difficult to get a shot, but he held steady, waiting for that brief window of opportunity.

"Move it Lieutenant!" Gossman screamed his order. His voice seemed to be closer this time.

Sherwood ignored his commanding officer and stared into the face of death patiently. Snow built up on his arms and face, and he blinked rapidly to clear away the flakes that fell into his eyes. He was calm, serene. A white wall was all he saw now. There was no sky, no mountains, nor forest. It was just him... and an aging man in grey robes.

His patience had been rewarded.

He felt something crash into his midsection, something warm and moving fast: Gossman. The trees lurched sickeningly and the ground was suddenly the only thing he could see. He could feel a massive shield, strapped against the Gossman's back, press painfully against his chest.

Far above them, the creator of the avalanche had been foolishly admiring his handiwork. He had stared down the mountain, spellforms fading from his fingertips, while he laughed at all he unleashed. The small dot was impossible to see through the torrents of snow, and fear would grip his heart when he at last saw it. An arrow shot true embedded itself between wide eyes with a solid thunk.

Sherwood let himself smile briefly. Then his world was filled with snow.

---

They came out of the trees and down the hills with skillful agility, cloaked in white just like them. Their movements were quick, precise and filled with confidence despite treacherous footing. Weapons were drawn as they cut through the woods and neared their prey.

Clarkson didn't hold back. His sword drew blood quickly and decisively while his other hand pulled free the throwing knives strapped to his chest. "Terra, stay behind me!" he managed to shout between wide swings.

They were Imperial. Elite soldiers, his eyes noticed the familiar armor but strange embroidered sigils. He didn't recognize anything save their ranks, but it was a mystery that would have to wait. He grunted in effort as he threw a knife, catching another man in the throat.

Terra could feel the rush of power respond to the great darkness that had suddenly surrounded them, whatever had cloaked their presence was there no longer. She held back, still apprehensive. But as Clarkson downed two more men without seeming to affect their odds, she threw out her hands. A blast of fire came from her fingers, devouring a column of frozen trees and catching two unlucky men in its wake.

Clarkson pulled Terra back as an arrow flew by them. He brought his sword around and met another, the clang of metal ringing clearly in the once silent forest. His muscles burned in effort as he won the contest of strength one-handed, driving his opponent's sword into the air and cutting the man's throat with precision.

There were too many of them! At least another dozen were rushing headlong, and archers were hidden somewhere. Another arrow flew by his face, embedding itself into a tree trunk.

"The Sophis!" their screams clarified into words as they neared.

Clarkson stuck out his leg and tripped another, killing him before he hit the ground. Clarkson grabbed Terra again just as another searing blaze left her hands. The side of her face was lit with red and orange light as the spell detonated in the midst of their ambushers, sending them scattering and echoing throughout the countryside.

"Up the cliff! Find something defensible!" he said between gasps. Trees flew by as they ran and twice Clarkson nearly tripped over frozen roots. "Backup will come," he said as a volley of arrows sailed past their fleeting forms.

Terra nodded, concentrating as she took another glance behind them. "There's a Magitek Knight," she discerned as she struggled to keep up with Clarkson. She had felt the telltale signs despite the cold blackness of all the men that chased them. Her heart pounded, not from exertion but with fear. The situation was dire and she knew there would be little choice: she had to morph without her father's restraint.

"Backup will come," Clarkson repeated as they charged past outcroppings of rock. "Just keep blowing up stuff and they'll find us!"

Terra nodded grimly, all too aware that an arrow had just grazed her cheek.

They were faster than their pursuit, driven by desperation and determination. Terra threw up spell after spell, warding away arrows and knocking over trees in hopes of delaying the mass of soldiers behind them. Their blind flight through the countryside led them into the deep wilderness, steadily uphill and in some unknown direction. Clouds churned overhead, but the threat of a blizzard was almost welcome!

Suddenly, dense forest was replaced by a clearing. Clarkson slipped and fell, crashing into the ground and sliding on hidden ice. Terra was right behind him, but just barely maintained her balance.

"A stream?" Clarkson pulled himself back up. The sound of pursuit was still behind them.

"There must be dozens back there!" Terra gasped as she tried to catch her breath. She wiped at the sweat that had been getting into her eyes. "We need to keep moving."

"We'll follow the stream downhill. We weren't far from the Ford and this will definitely get us there," Clarkson pointed along the thin clearing that ran between thick needle coverage. "Gossman will be there..."

"And what if he's not?" Terra asked.

"Then at least we know where we are!" Clarkson growled. "If we keep going, there's no telling where we'll end up. No supplies and lost in the mountainside, that's not the way I plan on dying."

Terra swallowed back her fear. "They're coming closer," she whispered with her eyes closed. "I can feel them... the void..."

"Then which way?" the blond Imperial soldier asked.

Terra's eyes snapped open. She was focused, determined... confident.

"Downhill."

---

"You're safe with me!"

Locke scrambled through the thicket, half-running and half-falling as he made his way through the cursed forest. Needles had managed to find every exposed part of his body, but he tolerated the pain. He could hear himself in the Narshe caverns again, and those words drove him downhill more than gravity did.

"I won't leave you until your memory returns!"

No. Not even if her memory returned. He would not make the same mistake again!

Locke swore as he tripped, the underbrush was deceivingly thick and the deep snow was no benefit. He rolled on the ground, a spray of snow catching him in the face. He spat out ice-water, only dimly realizing that he had lost his cloak and pack.

An explosion in the distance, but Locke knew it wasn't too far away. He turned towards the sound and saw the smoke above the curtain of trees. Smart girl, he thought as he began his sprint anew. He would save her. He would protect her.

He gave her his word.

---

The frozen stream had become a raging river and what ice there had been quickly broke apart. They had run alongside of it, at one point jumping down an icy cliff some thirty men high. Terra's array of spells had made it possible for them to get as far as they had, but she had been tired and Clarkson was no less fatigued.

The river would suddenly grow in width and that had made a shallow crossing possible through the cold waters. A well-trodden path ran through the area, tall river banks making any other crossing a terrible challenge. Gwendolen Ford was a well-known landmark in the region.

It had been a mistake to go there.

Clarkson felt another arrow tear through his arm. He gritted his teeth and ignored the pain. He screamed in effort as he killed again. Blood ran down the sides of his face -- Clarkson was no longer sure if it was his or not -- as he let go of his sword. It was deeply embedded in the man's chest; there was no time to remove it.

Terra gritted her teeth and struggled to cast another spell. Her ragged gasps for air became more desperate; they had been forced steadily back against the same cliff they had dropped down. With a high river bank on one side and raging river on the other, they were boxed in.

Everything was hazy; it felt like she was trying to breathe underwater. She struggled to stop the man charging from atop the river bank, barely setting him on fire before he jumped into their midst. Men were climbing down the cliff! Fire flew from her fingertips and incinerated the closest.

She took a quick glance behind her as she reluctantly drew the dagger Farin had given her. Clarkson was stumbling from one foot to the other, covered in blood, and slowly running out of weapons. His axe was gone, the swords at his side left in the chests of his enemies, his belt of throwing knives empty.

A red sheen invaded the sides of her vision. The power cried out for release; for Righteous Justice!

Terra hesitated.

A sudden blow knocked the air out of her, and then she was doubled over desperately trying to breathe. Brown leather surrounded her. She pointed at them, a spell on the tip of her tongue, when pain tore up her arm and brought her to her knees.

"Peer David, finish off the savage. The Patrician is already displeased by our delay. Peer Daniels, secure the Sophis."

Terra blinked. Her vision was filled with stars and her ears were ringing. The rush of power pounded her head. She struggled to make out the images before her. Why did was it so dark during daytime? The blackness was suffocating.

There was one man, brown against a field of brown leather yelling... was he screaming at her? The sounds did not form words... but... she pushed herself off the ground with all her strength. The pain was excruciating, but something-

Pain exploded throughout her body as a blow to the neck took her to the ground.

---

The world was a blur as Locke dove through the dense underbrush. His eyes flickered to and fro, concentrating on judging distances and avoiding obstacles as he charged through the thicket. It was no longer necessary to look for the tell-tale signs of magical flame; he could hear the sound of battle not far away.

A waterfall was ahead of him; he had gone too far upstream and nearly lost himself in the woods. But luckily, he had stumbled across a dozen trampled paths -- Terra's pursuers -- and gave chase with every fibre in his body. With legs burning from exhaustion, sweat dripping down his face and chest heaving with mouthfuls of air, he caught up with the rearmost elements of the enemy.

Imperial soldiers.

Two died with arrows stuck in the back of their skulls before Locke realized he had pulled out his bow. Instinctively, he dropped into a roll. An arrow sailed over his head as he spun around and let loose his retort, catching his pursuer in the shoulder and dropping the soldier into the deep snow.

He could hear the sounds of battle. He knew it was her; it had to be her!

His lungs felt like they were on fire, but still he charged forward. The trees in the forest, white and pristine, flew by as he ran. The wall of wood that had stretched on for miles suddenly vanished, replaced by thin air and the crash of a waterfall.

Below him, Locke could see Terra immobile -- she couldn't be dead! -- upon the ground. A dozen soldiers had descended the precipice and caught both her and Clarkson from behind. The valiant lone warrior was covered in blood, separated by some dozen paces away from Terra and surrounded by yet another squadron.

"Terra!" Locke screamed.

Adrenaline surged through his veins, the fires within burned for another reason! His bow sang, three arrows away before the first had found its target.

But it was too late. A single man towering over the rest drew a wickedly curved scimitar and with a single swing, took Clarkson's head off.

The tall man with the curved blade ducked under Locke's arrow. "Kill him," he pointed up the waterfall.

His order was unnecessary. A storm of arrows was already flying towards Locke as he dived behind cover. He gritted his teeth in pain as one of the many arrows ripped through his side. His eyes watered in pain.

"And make sure she's unconscious! The Patrician wants her alive!" Locke heard the tall man shout.

Terra... he was talking about Terra. She was still alive! Clarkson was gone, but she was alive.

A storm of memories rushed him. He could see his failures, his pathetic displays and his impotence. His arms shook and his eyes widened. He had failed in Narshe, in Thamasa, aboard the Floating Continent... Tzen, the Wilds, Strachan, and Fanshaw.

Anger gripped him and the decision was made before a question asked.

Locke tore an arrow out of his shoulder. He stood up and without hesitation fired two arrows at once. Two men dropped, arrows between the eyes. His arms worked on their own, his arrows finding the heart or skull each time as he took down the men firing back at him. Ten, eleven... he reached into his empty quiver, swore, and then for his pack.

The pack was gone.

Locke drew his knives and jumped.

Arrows peppered his leather armor and cut his flesh, but he was death incarnate. Locke landed in front of Terra -- spells subconsciously cast -- and charged headlong into the swarm. His knives slaughtered elite soldiers as if they were immobile rookies. He drew blood with each motion, his eyes wild as killed every single man that stood to harm Terra. He was only dimly aware that he was screaming. Parry and slash! Pivot and thrust! Blood splashed against his face and into his eyes as he spun beneath swords, dodged axes, and danced around pikes.

Atonement.

Reason had given way to base instincts. He smelled their fear. He heard them hit the ground. He felt the heat escape their bodies. He watched his knives pierce vital organs. He tasted the metallic spray of lifeblood.

He was the defender of the weak, dealer of righteous justice; the avatar of death. No one would stop him from fulfilling his promise.

And suddenly his knife hit metal, blade upon blade ringing. His off-hand met more resistance and Locke faced the tall man, vision crimson from the blood of his enemies.

He felt, rather than saw, the second curved blade. Locke did not falter as he felt the cold winter air upon his innards.

"Those were my best," the tall soldier sneered. "For a savage, that's impressive."

Blood was running down his chest, Locke could feel it. It was getting cold, terribly so. The world was spinning at an incredible rate now, but he could still make out shapes. There were still dozens of men around her.

Around Terra.

---

"TERRA!"

Terra raised her head. The ringing had stopped, and she vaguely knew that she was in deep trouble. She was cold -- very cold -- and her hands shook as she tried to get off the snowy ground. Her eyes focused and suddenly she found herself staring at...

Locke?

What was Locke doing here? Where was Clarkson? What...

Suddenly her eyes snapped open. Soldiers with weapons drawn, the crimson snow, a huge soldier with a wickedly curved sword sticking into...

"Locke!" she tried to scream, but her throat constricted in pain and she collapsed back into the snow. Her head smashed into something hard. Icy cold water -- melted snow from her own ragged gasps -- helped fight the dizziness. She ignored the protests from her muscles and pushed herself back up.

Just in time to see the tall man let go of a sword sticking through Locke's chest. A horrendous gash ran down the side of the soldier's face, and a dull-black knife stuck out of his shoulder. Blood ran down his leather armor. He gripped his other sword with both hands and held up above his head.

"Peer David," someone in grey -- a Magitek Knight -- was strolling towards the display. Terra could see the man cross the flash-frozen river. Unnumbered men in brown leather trailed behind him. "You are wasting time."

"Die, savage," the soldier named David sneered.

Terra froze as she watched the blade slash across Locke's throat. A spray of crimson blood met the once pure white snow, and Locke collapsed face-first into the ground. David thrust his sword through Locke's back and twisted.

The breath left Terra's throat icy cold. She didn't even feel the man grabbing her hair. Her mind repeated the sight of red spurting lifeblood from his throat, brown eyes rolling into the back of his head, and his collapse into the snow face-first. Then she saw again the blade through his chest. She saw Locke twitch as it cut through his vitals. She saw the blade twist. She saw it twist again, and again.

And again.

The world vanished in a red sheen.

---

Norris Ferdinand broke out of the woods and across the ford. He ran as fast as he could, homing in on the thickest shroud of darkness. The spells that had physically supported him had long since run out, but he arrived at the scene of battle only slightly winded, but quite weary.

He stopped in his tracks.

Upstream, countless men lay in the snow, dead or dying. The snow was more crimson than white, more liquid than solid, but Norris ignored the gruesome scene and instead his arms flung forward. Lone sentries flew into the forest as he charged up the frozen river.

Numbers were against him, but they were all grouped near the waterfall and paid no heed to him. A Magitek Knight, dozens of soldiers and an equal number of corpses. Two of those corpses looked all too familiar, and there was Terra! Norris pulled up his sleeves when he felt something from her: an aura that sent shivers down his spine.

A noiseless scream hit his ears and his vision exploded into stars. He suddenly found himself on one knee, gasping heavily as he struggled to breathe. He forced his head up and saw that the Magitek Knight had also collapsed; the men around him extremely concerned.

"The Sophis!" the Magitek Knight screamed.

Norris' eyes widened at those words.

The men around Terra were already in motion; the closest three had their blades drawn within an arm's length of her. One even held her long blond hair, his face a mask of anger as his fist flew through the air.

It never hit her.

A concussion of energy exploded around her. The shockwave of magic hit the men closest, their flesh searing off in a blinding flash of fire and smoke and blew their still burning skeletons into the air with more force than Norris had ever put into his own spells.

The remaining men charged, their blades pointed at her.

Before they took half a step, the air around Terra thickened and sparkled. Ice rippled through the ground, rising from the snow like peaks of mountains, twice the size of the largest man but sharper than any blade and ringed a deadly circle around Terra. The ice peaks exploded through the ground and formed a protective wall that continued to grow both higher and thicker. Mist exploded around her and shards of ice crashed to the ground. The fog hid the soldiers from sight, but they could still be heard. Above the trembling of the earth were the sounds of men dying; their screams of pain horrendous to the ears.

Then the mist dissipated. Not a single man had escaped, each impaled by the peaks of ice as they shot from the ground. The soldiers were all dead, lying lifelessly upon each translucent pillar of frozen might.

"What the..." Norris whispered.

She rose above the wall of ice, now the height of five men, with an aura of white light surrounding her. Great feathered wings flapped slowly, lifting her lithe form into the air. Purple hair fluttered upwards, answering not to the wind but the magical aura surrounding her.

Behind her, the frozen waterfall shattered.

Deadly red eyes turned their rage on the Magitek Knight and his men, even as they scrambled to safety from the outburst of water. Her lean arm pointed a single finger at them.

Every single soldier, most frozen in absolute terror, was blown backwards into the air. Their flesh departed their skeletal frames in mid-flight and before they hit the fence of trees upon the riverside, everything vaporized into nothingness. The still-frozen river imploded, a spray of deadly ice-shards smashing against Norris's yellow-hued shield.

Only two men were still standing, the Magitek Knight and a tall soldier with blood pouring down his face.

The Magitek Knight threw his hands out and a blast of thunder rippled forth. Blinding, twisting knots of electricity smashed into the white form. The Magitek Knight poured all his power into the spell, bolt after bolt of explosive magical energy ripping into an undefended opponent. Flames erupted and devoured the trees surrounding her, smoke so thick that it obscured the entire waterfall.

The storm of flame and lightning continued for an unholy length of time before the man in grey cried out in pain. He stumbled to the ground, exhausted from his efforts, but still readying another spell.

Red eyes left their gaze from the tall soldier to the crumpled mage. Smoke rose from crisp remains of trees around her thin white form, but not a single scratch could be seen on her. The cliff face had been melted inwards, but her skin was still flawless and smooth. Her hair continued to flutter upwards. Her wings flapped slowly. Her breath was calm and collected.

Retribution.

The Magitek Knight screamed as his body burst into flames. His grey robes melted into his skin and his flesh bubbled into thick black smoke. His scream became a gurgle as the blood within his veins boiled. He fell and hit the ground as little more than a blackened skeleton. Crimson vapor rose from still burning remains.

The last remaining soldier glanced down at his dead friend and then looked back up. He did not notice the bones turning to ash. Instead, he reached into his armor and threw a cluster of five knives. His eyes widened in terror as all five knives stopped in midair, hovering but a breath away from naked, pale white flesh.

A single finger pointed at the cluster of knives and immediately, the blades melted. Their handles were carried away by the river as five globs of liquid metal combined to form a sphere.

"Unholy beast," the scarred soldier whispered.

Red eyes returned to the soldier, their hardened gaze burning deep into his soul.

Metal shot out of the liquid sphere, a single round pole that pierced through the soldier's throat. With a wave of her hand, the pole lifted the man off his feet, his screams of pain only silenced by the difficulty breathing. In the blink of an eye, the soldier found himself staring into the crimson eyes of death. She hovered in front of him, he held up by the shaft through his throat, her by her wings, and smiled.

A ripple traveled through the metal pole and left it a sharpened blade. A final, gut-wrenching scream of pain came before the soldier fell to the ground, his head split in half, and very dead.

---

There was no more darkness anymore. Her eyes looked past the smoking remains, barely worth the effort for her to cleanse, and focused a particular cadaver. The very sight of his corpse hurt her more than her enemies could have ever dreamed.

Terra landed in the snow as her wings vanished. She ran up to the corpse of Locke Cole and magic flooded to her fingers. Her knees hit the crimson snow before she cradled his head in her lap. Yellow light surrounded them, sparkles swirling about in a great magical updraft.

She screamed in anguish. Tears poured down her cheeks even as the draft strengthened, snowflakes joining the tornado that spiralled about her. Dead bodies of their ambushers were lifted into the air as the yellow aura intensified until it was blindingly bright. Snow melted into puddles of water that rippled without wind. Powerful magic, wielded for the most noble of causes, took its toil. But Terra's heart sank as she knew the truth.

She couldn't save him.

It was happening all over again! So what if he was already dead? Who cared if his heart had stopped beating minutes ago? She should have been able bring him back. She had the power!

But it was all slipping away from her. Just like in the chaos of the airship crash: Michals, the Lieutenant that had thanked her for her futile efforts; Davis, the pilot that had saved her life but she could not save him from the inferno's wrath; Marcus, the Captain that had trusted her, whose existence was snuffed out by her incompetence.

The tornado of magic died without ceremony, snow and cadavers stopped moving and fell back to the earth. Water turned to ice, ripples frozen in mid-motion. The yellow aura shimmered and distorted into a sickly green and even that faded away.

And Gau. Pure, innocent, and benevolent Gau.

Terra gritted her teeth in anger and called the red sheen forth, snow and trees vanishing as she fought in a crimson haze. Not again! Never again! The fires within burned with righteousness, seraphic energy at her beck and call! She stood between space and time and bent the laws of the universe to her will.

She could reverse this. The thread to his soul was still there, if only she could just...

Her vision cleared of the red fog against her own will. She cried out in frustration. Why couldn't she do this? Why couldn't she save Locke?

"Because you're afraid."

Terra spun around and found herself staring at an Esper. Its naked white form was wrapped by feathered wings, most angelic of dresses. Her purple hair draped down her back, more royal than any crown. Unnatural red eyes watched her with almost a playful countenance.

"You!" Terra cried out. Her hand pointed at the Esper. "You're the one that's stopping me!"

The Esper shook her head sadly.

"I know it's you!" Terra growled. "You're the one that whispers to me. You sing your song and beg me to take life after life! You're the beast I've fought and restrained! And now; now you're taking your vengeance. You're preventing me from saving Locke's life!" Terra threw herself at the villain, but found that she was frozen. She railed at the white monster instead, screaming curse after curse.

The Esper walked around her slowly, sighing and shaking her head from time to time. When she finally stood in front of Terra once again, Terra lashed out.

"You're the monster inside of me," she snarled.

"I am you."

"The other me!"

"No, I am you. But you won't accept that, will you?"

"Never!" Terra screamed. "Now let go of me!"

"Let yourself go."

Suddenly, Terra could move again. She spun around as the Esper vanished and reappeared behind her. Terra's face was a mask of hatred as she tried again and again to grasp the throat of the Esper, failing each and every single time. She came close once or twice, but always before her fingers closed to choke the life out of her, the Esper would disappear.

The Esper disappeared finally and appeared far away, sitting upon an ancient throne. She leaned back against ageless metal entwined in patters that shimmered with magical energy. Her arms rested upon the heads of two statues, beasts that Terra had never seen. Both were lion like, dark metal contrasted against blue and purple flames that danced from their backs. The Esper did not seem affected by the fire. Instead, she seemed to pity the green-haired woman standing in front of her.

Terra gestured at the monster. Air shimmered and wavered, but broke in a shower of blue sparks before it reached the throne.

"Look at you," the Esper pointed at her. "You hate yourself. You fear yourself. You've even begun talking to me like I'm someone else."

Terra screamed and blasted the Esper with everything she had. Fire, ice and lightning tore into the Esper and the combined magical domains lashed back in a blinding surge of energy. The elements were never meant to be commanded in such a manner and when they protested, the explosion engulfed the ancient throne and everything around it.

And when the miniature sun disappeared, the Esper was left standing unharmed. An elaborate spear rested against her shoulder, its shaft covered by concentric patterns of woven metals.

Terra dropped her arms, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath.

"Do you really think this will save him?"

She blinked. Locke... she glared at the Esper. "If I destroy you, I can save him," she said indignantly. "You're just monster that's hiding inside of me!"

"How easy that must be for you to say," the Esper sounded insulted.

Terra paused, confused. "What is that supposed to mean!"

The Esper gestured off to the side. Terra followed the outstretched arm. In the distance, she could make out vague shapes. A man towering over a seated woman, holding something round between his hands as he chuckled obscenely.

Terra gritted her teeth at the recollection of that moment. "How dare you show me that! Do you enjoy tormenting me? Do you enjoy showing me the worse moments of my life?"

The Esper shook her head sadly. "That was not the worst," she stated lifelessly.

"You're insane, I would know what the worst moment of my life is," Terra growled. Anger still flowed through her veins. This beast was stopping her from saving Locke, she knew it with all her heart.

"I'm insane? You're suffering from mental fatigue, you have head trauma and a mighty concussion, and finally, you're conversing with a figment of your imagination. I would say you're the insane one."

"You're not a figment of my imagination. I know exactly what you are. You've tried to seduce me for so long, tried to turn me into a murderous weapon so that you could wreak death and destruction on everything I hold dear! I imprisoned you and-"

"Imprison? You didn't do anything of the sort, child," the Esper gestured once more and somehow, they were back in Narshe. The homely wooden cabin was bathed in the flickering light of a fireplace. Arvis was nearby, and a vision of her past self stared at the old Narshe Returner blankly.

"I can't remember a thing..." a younger Terra whispered dejectedly.

"Don't worry. It will all come back to you," Arvis turned away and carefully set down an ancient crown. "In time, that is."

The shades of the past froze in place and the Esper strolled through the scene. She held her hands out to the fireplace, rubbing them together even though the flames had also been frozen. "But it didn't, did it?" she said with her back to Terra.

Terra strolled through Arvis' home and walked through the image of her past. "I remember enough," she retorted. The anger had steadily faded; she was confused by what was happening and that made holding onto her fury a difficult prospect.

"How convenient that must be," the Esper turned from the fire, a face of compassion. "To forget sixteen years under Imperial rule."

Arvis' small, comfortable dwelling shimmered and undulated. The past disappeared again, replaced by the cold, metallic metal walls of the Imperial Palace. Smooth black stonework stretched upwards towards the darkening sky, meant to protect against an outside threat but...

A small child had dashed to the flawless wall, her hands searching for something to hold onto but finding none. Brown leather chased after the desperate green-haired girl, running her into a corner with ease. She screamed at them, but they paid her complaints little heed and subdued her with batons.

"To forget what it was like to grow up with the Magitek Laboratories as your only home."

Harsh, unnatural white light suddenly shone down upon them. Terra instinctively closed her eyes and recoiled away. Grey metal stretched forth in all directions, and the steady rumbling of machinery echoed throughout the air. Terra heard the steady thumping of boots and turned in their direction, her eyes watering as she saw soldiers manhandling a green-haired child while white-coated men trailed behind.

"To forget the scientists that prodded you and strapped you to their infernal machines every day of your life. Experiment after experiment, never saying anything but instead scrawling onto their damned clipboards."

Even that illusion disappeared, and Terra found herself staring at a teenaged girl now. She was clutching her stomach, doubled over in the mud as rain poured down upon her. Dozens of soldiers stood around her and though blood ran from her mouth, they ignored her pain. Though tears fell to the ground without pause, they ignored her suffering.

They always ignored her.

"To forget how they pressed you, day after day, night after night."

Terra spun towards the Esper. "No!" she screamed. "Not this!"

"Burn this! Burn that!" the Esper growled angrily.

Terra couldn't bear to watch it. She turned her back to the past, but she could still hear it.

A high-pitched scream of monstrous rage, and then the heat! That unholy fire! She could feel the inferno press against her back as the screams began. Hideous cries of pain, men begging for mercy and wailing for their loved ones.

She always ignored them.

The whine of steam ejecting accompanied the rhythmic rumbling of the ground. Terra concentrated on the mud at her feet, doing her best to ignore the scene and failing miserably.

"How easy it was to forget!"

The roar of elemental cannonade drowned out all but one wretched scream of anger. Rainwater splashed against her back and the flooded ground reflected with the light of numerous explosions. Terra closed her eyes in shame, but instead her vision was dominated by the white-skinned Esper.

"To take the opportunity you were given, leave it all behind and find a real childhood," the Esper wiped at her eyes as the sounds of battle steadily faded away. When she looked back up, they were bloodshot eyes that Terra had seen in the mirror thousands of times. "I don't blame you. After all, I did the same."

Terra took a step back, and then another as the Esper's face gained more and more color. Her hair darkened, fading from purple hues to a muted blue. Her skin took on a human complexion, but her eyes... they stayed the same.

Realization struck Terra like a lightning bolt. She stared at the Esper with wide-open eyes.

"Now you understand don't you? Now you understand why even morphed, you couldn't help Gau; why you couldn't save Michals, Davis, or Marcus. After all, how can you heal another when you are so grievously wounded yourself?"

Terra pointed at the Esper. She dreaded to say the words, but she knew they were true. "You... you weren't there," she whispered. "Even when I morphed to help Gau, you weren't there."

The Esper's blood-shot eyes locked with hers. There was no mercy in that cold gaze, only pain. "No," she corrected. "You weren't there."

Terra blinked in confusion. "I can't believe this," her voice was barely audible, but a place between space and time, that was an overlooked detail.

"You don't want to," the Esper growled. Wings spread forth and she gripped the spear at her side. It wavered and shimmered, waves of blue and white light washing over it until the spear was no longer. It was instead a sword, a sword that radiated magic like the sun radiated light.

The blade was warm and inviting. It seemed to call to her. Unlike her power, it was not a seductive song. It called to her because she needed it, but it was always her choice.

Terra remembered Locke. She banished the thought of the sword and steeled herself. "Maduin locked you away," she said to the Esper.

No response.

Terra's glare softened. "I locked you... me... I locked myself away. My father just helped, didn't he?"

The Esper nodded.

"I was always afraid, wasn't I?" Terra turned away from the Esper, she already knew the answer. "Ever since I met Tritoch, ever since I had a glimpse at the depth of my power... I was afraid of what I would become." She spun back around and looked at the Esper with fresh eyes. "I was afraid of what I was. I tried to forget it: my power, my past..."

Terra took a deep breath. "...my feelings. I tried to forget everything so that I could start fresh."

The Esper nodded again.

"I am still afraid," Terra whispered.

The Esper's wings vanished, and her hair turned to its familiar green.

"But," Terra looked down at the body of Locke Cole. His eyes looked up at her, lifeless and dead. "I won't fail again," she said with clenched fists. "No matter the cost, I will do what's necessary."

The vision of her smiled.

Terra smiled back. Everything was vanishing now, her reflection's form slowly fading away as if it had been an illusion all along. But it was no mere dream. It had been real. Terra trembled but would not back down, not now! She might have been still afraid, but at least this time it would be different.

This time, she accepted it.

Cold air greeted her return to reality and Terra Branford, half-Esper, daughter of Maduin and Madonna, stood tall and opened her arms.

The world vanished in a white sheen.

---

The whirlwind shattered, sending shockwaves of snow flying outward with such force it cut through the unfortunate trees in its path. Swirling rainbow-coloured energy hung in the air for a moment longer, and then it faded away. Steam rose around them as ripple after ripple of energy spread across the ground and turned ice to water, and then water to ice.

Tears ran down her cheeks as powerful magic continued to emanate from Terra. Spirals of sparkling light danced around her hands and bathed her in pure white light. Her hair was floating in waves of energy that drifted upwards while four tiny tornadoes -- at most half the height of man -- spun around her and engraved ancient symbols in the snow-covered ground.

A gasp came from Locke, and he coughed terribly as he choked on his own blood. He bolted upright, eyes wide in confusion and fear, as he spat blood. His lungs began to take in air again, his heart beat once more. Locke noticed the woman on his arm, the source of the warmth that had flooded his body.

The glow about Terra faded away. Her purple hair fell back down to her shoulders softly and the tornadoes dissipated.

Norris finally remembered to breathe.

Terra turned to face Norris Ferdinand, the Magitek Knight standing beside them with surprise etched into his wizened face. Blood-red orbs stared into his soul.

The breath caught in Norris' throat.

Terra smiled dangerously and then turned away, satisfied. She collapsed against Locke's chest, wings steadily disappearing as her skin started to take color again and her hair lost its exotic purple shade.

Terra Branford closed her eyes and fell asleep.


	13. Firestorm

**The Thirteenth Chapter - Firestorm**

Cyan closed the door with a sigh. It was already long past dusk and the small tent he had pitched would be lacking firewood for the night. He picked up his sheathed blade, strode off the creaking cottage deck and into the thick snow.

"I'm surprised that you can do this everyday," Paisley remarked.

Cyan turned around. Paisley was on the porch, sitting on an old stool and staring in the direction of the camp. A playful boyish smile was on his face as he lowered his book. Irving had been inside the cottage watching over Cyan and Relm. The two men usually switched roles daily, either to avoid becoming complacent around the two Returners or because the job of watching over them was as boring as watching paint dry.

"Moments like these are those that will be treasured for a lifetime," Cyan responded as he replaced his sword at the hip, "though perhaps you cannot appreciate such joy."

Paisley frowned for a moment, and then his face brightened in a manner that Cyan knew was forced. "Well I guess I'm too young to understand, but at least I'm helping you by not enforcing the time limit."

Cyan grunted, unwilling to thank the Imperial for such an insignificant display of kindness that was clearly calculated to throw him off-guard. He turned away from Paisley, eager to get away from the deceitful Imperial.

"You know, I always wanted to ask you something, Cyan."

Cyan kept walking.

"Why aren't you overseas leading your people?"

He missed a step. Cyan turned around and glowered at Paisley, who had stepped off the porch and into the darkness around the cottage. The young soldier had decided to follow the Knight a few paces behind, still holding his book in one hand.

"It's a tough question, isn't it?" Paisley had put on an irritatingly fake look of innocence. "I've been thinking about it day after day but I just can't seem to find an answer. I guess you don't have one either."

Cyan folded his muscular arms. "There is nothing difficult about thy question," he answered. "Truly, I could ask a similar one of you, Imperial."

Paisley raised an eyebrow. "Really?" he clicked his tongue. "And what might that be?"

"How one could be so lacking in moral fibre that he dares raise a blade against one's own countrymen." Though it was worded like a question, there was no doubt in either man whether an answer was desired. That did not stop Paisley though, who continued his charade and gave an unwarranted response.

"You surprise me, Cyan," his voice sounded slightly strained, as if he was doing his best to not act rude. "Would you not follow your liege to hell and back?"

Cyan frowned.

"General Meras has made it clear the magnitude of injustice that the New Order has wreaked upon the Core. But even if that were not true, I would not think twice before striking down the rich, heartless scum that have bled my home dry," Paisley pointed at Cyan. "Would you not do the same, Knight of Doma, if your King spent his entire life sitting upon a throne and constantly taxed you and your family until they didn't have enough to survive the winter?"

There was a hint of emotion hidden beneath that voice, pain or regret, which Cyan responded to with a degree of compassion. "A tyrant must be fought, but to slay your own countrymen, that is an action I would never endeavour."

"And what if they weren't so much your countrymen? What if your Kingdom was so large that it was divided into province after province? What if the inner ones, filled with nobility and long since corrupted by politics, plundered the poor provinces until they were crippled, sickly and dying?"

Cyan reluctantly mulled over those words as he watched Paisley's freckled cheeks puff in anger, years of repressed pain surfacing in his speckled brown eyes. Though he was a dangerous soldier, Cyan could see that Paisley was still young, still immature. This was a man that had been forced to grow up all too fast, forced to suppress the child inside and put on a cold-hearted countenance.

"The people of the Core don't care for us. They're just a bunch of well-to-do snobs that grow rich off our suffering. They've been protected from the monsters for so long, avoided war, disease, famine, drought... they think the world is their oyster! They're not my countrymen; my countrymen live here, in this province, serving in the armies of General Danielle Meras. We will not suffer anymore while those in the Core lounge about draped in velvet and silk, drinking wine and debating merits of the latest fashion trend!"

For Cyan Garamonde, he had heard rants like this all his life. Even squires occasionally had such views of the world, lacking the education to see what sacrifices were necessary for the greater good. He had trained many a child, guided them along the path of knighthood or into the army until they matured. Many of his students had joined because they had no choice. It had been the only way to feed their families.

The pain in this child's eyes was all too familiar to Cyan Garamonde. "And that's why you follow this woman, your conqueror," he replied in a soft tone.

"She cares for us!" Paisley scowled. "She's lived here and suffered with us. She sees with the same eyes as we do. Why do you think so many divisions were busy putting down monsters when she needed us in the Core? I was in the Wilds engaged with dragons while my friends died in the Siege of Vector. They were fighting for our future, standing boldly in front of beams of fire and ice, while I went around safely patrolling the countryside. General Meras cares for the safety of all. If she takes the throne, then we'll never starve through another winter."

Paisley's voice broke and the kid quickly spun away in shame.

Cyan silently watched the child walk away. His throat felt dry for some reason.

---

Locke Cole had died.

The ice was crystal clear; all that had been necessary was to wipe the powder off the top. He stared at his reflection in the frozen lake and touched at the scar that ran down the side of his face.

There was nothing there. Like all the wounds he had suffered, the scars had disappeared when Terra healed him. No sign that his cheek had been split apart, his chest had been cut open, his throat slashed, or his back pierced. It was as if Gwendolen Ford had never happened; he was as alive as he ever was.

But the fact remained. Locke Cole had died.

His fingers ran down his chest, amazed that there was skin, muscle and bone in the proper places. It was a ghostly feeling that continued to plague him. Every waking moment, he would look down and expect that his chest was open and spurting gallons of lifeblood. Nightmares plagued his nights; the scene at Gwendolen Ford would replay in his head over and over again.

He still remembered those events vividly; the metallic lifeblood -- his enemies' and his own -- could still be tasted on his lips. He knew those memories were burned into him now. His every motion, every death-dealing strike, was committed to memory for eternity.

Locke Cole had, once again, failed. He laughed out loud, but it was a pathetic noise that was devoid of any joy. An incompetent, miserable failure. A man whose promises were hollow, with a long history of barely scraping by disaster after disaster. His only successes marked by the people he surrounded himself with; friends that were capable of keeping promises with the swing of the sword. They were the ones that had maintained the promises he swore. Him? He just flailed on the sidelines impotently.

His fist made no discernable dent in the thick ice. Locke's face twisted as he thought about how events had unfolded. His mind went over everything he had done and the frustration had finally settled in.

He had the commitment, the ability, and the willingness. He had even given his life. Yet it was still not enough. That realization hurt him more than anything. He had done his best, pushed himself to the limits, and still atonement was out of reach. Even the greatest of sacrifices was not enough to find forgiveness.

What more could he do? What more was required of him?

What do you want from me?!?

His fist pounded into the ice over and over again. Even beneath thick sheepskin gloves, he could feel the slick, sticky wetness of his bloodied knuckles. Each blow was accompanied by a jolting sensation that traveled up his arm and down his spine. It was a great feeling, better than anger or frustration. He continued to pound the surface of the lake.

Locke stopped, not because of the pain or concern for his own well-being, but because something had occurred to him.

It was an obvious pattern, now that he noticed it. His failure at Narshe at been his first, but little could be done in the face of the ancient Tritoch. In Thamasa though, the forces Kefka had brought were overwhelming. In Albrook he had been surprised by Marcus. Aboard the Floating Continent, Davis had stepped in with Magitek Armor. In Tzen, Danielle had ambushed them. In the Wilds, Farin had to spur his men into action. In Strachan, Norris had blown away the behemoth with his spells. And in Fanshaw...

The puzzle pieces clicked into place, one after another. The frustration melted away as the answers became clear.

Locke Cole stood up, only now noticing that Anthony had been watching him with a great deal of unease. He rubbed his fists absentmindedly, soothing the bloodied knuckles as he approached the archer.

"What were you thinking?" Anthony growled at him. His bow was out and he did not make eye contact with Locke. He scanned the cliff-face on the other side of the lake. There was nothing nearby. "I'm getting tired of this act! That's the third time this week and I can't cover for you any longer. You keep slipping off on your own and I will report you to the Colonel. I cannot risk your insubordination bringing the enemy down on all of us!"

Locke smiled.

"Sorry about that, Sergeant. It won't happen again."

---

Four days they had spent near the feet of the Strachan Mountains. They were close enough to make day-long trips into the Imperial Core, yet far enough so that the New Order's troops did not catch them. It had taken just shy of a week to reach the area; Fanshaw was quite far to the southwest and a snowstorm had also slowed them down.

"The Colonel's back."

Terra Branford got up from a comfortable spot against an old pine. She smiled at Anthony. The dark-haired soldier looked better than the rest, but even the medic's face was bandaged. His shoulders were wrapped tightly beneath the armor, and untreated superficial cuts accompanied every patch of bare skin. His bow and nigh-empty quiver were strapped to his back.

"Thank you, Anthony," she replied. "You've been very helpful."

Norris slipped into their campsite with Gossman following closely. The mage had a frown on his face, though his beard hid that fact quite well and instead made him look deep in thought. They were the only two that had gone to scout ahead.

Terra had few details on what befell Norris' handpicked team. Their numbers had dwindled heavily though, and though she did not know all their names, the missing faces still added to a sorrowful burden. Those that had survived were hurt badly; it had taken most of the week for her to heal all the broken bones. Terra had tried to coax the story out of Sherwood, the only soldier she knew now, but he was even more introverted than usual.

Terra couldn't fault him. The Civil War had taken Clarkson's life as well.

The rest of the soldiers remained quiet whenever she questioned them. They would thank her for healing them and then it was back to business. Most avoided her at every opportunity, and though she had not been on friendly terms beforehand, it was quickly becoming a source of irritation.

Aside from herself and Anthony, only Miles arrived to greet the Colonel. Though numbers had been halved, their mandate stayed the same. The Empire was at war and even were they not professionals, there was no time to relax and tend to emotional wounds.

"Well?" Miles asked between bites. The one-eyed soldier was chewing on the leg of a wolf. A pack of five had attempted to ambush their camp while they had been setting up. Their freshly-roasted corpses had cheered up the solemn crowd; the scent of delicious meat reminded everyone how terrible Imperial rations really were.

"Nothing new," Norris replied. "The western roads are deserted, but the tracks we found definitely suggest that at least four regiments' worth of men had recently marched by."

They had left Fanshaw and made their way deeper into the Core. Now they were closing on the Imperial Capital. The roads leading to the center of the Empire were well-kept and fitting for their prestigious roles. Magic had been used to smooth out stone, flatten the land, and build vast bridges. Such roads were without peer, serving as blood vessels for a city of over a million. Those same roads were now used for the New Order's armies, providing supplies and reinforcements with unparalleled efficiency.

It also offered a chance for spies to discern the strength of the Core's armies.

Norris took a seat on a thick, snow covered tree root. He pulled his hood down and brushed back his hair, revealing the deepening wrinkles on his wizened face. "The facts are impossible to ignore now. Alysworth is besieged about a day's north of Maley's Point," Norris sighed. "I don't what's going on over there, but I can hear the relentless, never-ending string of explosions. Miles, prepare to pack up. We're going back."

"Why would we do such a thing?" Miles asked. "Our position is advantageous and it's not like eight of us will do anything to relieve pressure on the army."

"The roads supplying Caleigh's forces appear to be regularly patrolled," Norris explained.

"Unexpected," Miles growled softly. "I didn't think the Core had that kind of strength remaining."

Norris nodded. He ran a hand through his messy grey hair, pulling at it in frustration. "It appears that they're a lot stronger than we were told. It's probable that the New Order is deploying new recruits and mobilizing veterans. The entire Core is moving. I'm not sure what to make of it."

Terra frowned. "I thought the New Order's policies were crippling their people and starving thousands. Why would anyone join the army of their oppressors?" she asked suspiciously.

Silence. The Imperials all knew the answer, but none dared voice it. It was treason to voice such things.

Norris avoided Terra's gaze. "We have enough disturbing news to report and little of it makes sense. Guessing is pointless," he declared. "We'll make our way north tomorrow, out of the forest and onto the plains. That'll give us a closer look at the encampments stretching southeast of the capital, hopefully without exposing us. It has the added benefit of getting us back to the army faster, our thin supplies are dwindling and we can't risk staying out here much longer."

With those words, the three soldiers got up and began to pack up camp. Norris headed north, where Sherwood and Locke's sentry position was located, when Terra caught up behind him.

"You've been ignoring me," Terra reproached as she matched his brisk pace.

Norris turned his attention to her. He hid his emotions extraordinarily well, but she noticed that his gaze lingered on her hair.

"I've been extremely busy, what with losing many of the best, most trustworthy soldiers I have ever served with. Scouting this region would have been much easier once our numbers were bolstered by the teams that had already infiltrated Fanshaw, but now we're fewer than we started with." Norris answered plainly. "I'll be honest though, I haven't been keen to find spare time..." he turned back to her, clearly staring at her hair now, and frowned. "And considering what I witnessed, I don't think you can blame me."

Terra folded her arms, her bloodied wolf-mantle peeking from beneath the standard whitewashed cloak. "Norris, I did everything I could to save Clarkson," she said with a frown. "He saved my life more times than I can count and..." Terra missed a step, surprised at the emotions welling up within her. She cleared her throat and tried to focus. "If I cared about your threat, I would have killed you the moment I saw you."

"I am well aware of that."

"Then there's no reason for you to be afraid of me," Terra exasperated. "I'm no different than I was a week ago," she tapped between her breasts. "I'm still me."

Norris looked at her from the corner of his eyes. He burst out laughing. "Ridiculous! I don't know where you got the idea in your head, but I'm not scared of you. And while seeing you turn into a white-winged angel of death was a definitely a surprise I could have lived without, I don't suddenly think of you as another person."

"Then why avoid me?" Terra asked, perturbed.

"I'm worried," he explained with a smile. "There are enough things on my mind that I would prefer not having to address every little matter, though I suppose I can't delay addressing the shroud any longer..."

"The shroud?" Terra echoed. "Wait, you know what that darkness is? I wanted to talk to you about it the morning when we were leaving Fanshaw. I felt that weird aura from Anna a number of times."

"From Anna?" Norris paused in mid-step. His wrinkled face got more wrinkled. "Are you sure?"

"It was the first time I ever felt emotions through magic," Terra answered confidently.

Norris rubbed his eyes and sighed. "This answers a question of mine, but a host springs up to take its place."

"So you know what it was? I mean, you know its name," Terra pressed, intrigued by the older mage's knowledge.

"No I don't. It just sounded good," Norris explained with an embarrassing grin. "I've never encountered anything like that darkness before," his expression grew serious again, "but I don't think it was emotion. Maybe you don't know what your limits are, but I haven't discovered anything new about myself for several years now. We both felt the same thing, so I believe it was spellcraft."

"But the aura receded when I healed Anna."

"Really?" Norris hummed and murmured to himself. He grumbled under his breath a few times, and then growled. "But considering how widespread it was with our ambushers..."

"Speaking of which, who were they?" Terra could tell that Norris didn't know much more than she did and decided to change the subject.

"I'm not willing to say for certain," Norris answered as he once again picked up the pace. "But there is no doubt they were, at least once, working under the Maverick."

Terra remembered that infamous name. Locke had told her about the atrocities committed by the conqueror of Maranda, and not even Danielle -- a fellow General -- had good things to say about the tyrant. "How do you know it's him? It could be the pretender..."

"Anson Tilton? Certainly not," Norris paused as he ducked under a low branch. They began to climb uphill, towards the lookout point where Sherwood and Locke were located. "I know they were assigned to Maverick Drummond because I knew one of the Magitek Knights who attacked us."

"One of the...? There were more?"

Norris nodded. "There hasn't been time to debrief you, but you were not the only one to face magic. I was forced to kill an old colleague that day."

Terra thought she heard an undercurrent of emotion in the Colonel's voice. "I'm sorry," she apologized. "I didn't realize how much you went through."

"Everyone went through a lot, especially you," Norris pointed at her hair.

Terra touched the grey strands of hair that were pulled back into a ponytail. "A lot happened that day," she acknowledged quietly. Her posture became just a bit taller.

Norris looked Terra up and down once more, his gaze still lingering on her grey hair. "I won't pretend to know what you went through or what caused this change. But it does worry me that even with several decades separating us, our hair color matches."

"It won't affect me," Terra responded.

Norris pursed his lips together with concern. "To say that the spells you unleashed were powerful... well, that's an understatement. And I'm no fool, I know Locke was dead," his voice was nothing more than a whisper now, easily masked by the sound of their footsteps breaking through hardened snow. "So much power... I don't know what it might have cost you; perhaps the change is related. But when I'm unsure of something magical, it means my men are downright frightened."

"It's just the color of my hair. There's nothing to be worried about," Terra defended herself.

"It's magic, and everyone knows it. For me and you, we don't think it's a problem. I can tell that you're as lively as you were before the change, maybe even more so. But for guys like Miles and Gossman, they're not magically-inclined. They're scared that you were spelled by something horrendous, and then their imaginations run wild. It's not good for them."

"I suppose I could dye my hair again," Terra offered, well-aware of how easily people grew afraid of magic. "Though I still think this is a bit more natural than green."

Norris laughed, his joyous expression bringing a smile to Terra's face. "When we get-"

Terra suddenly spun towards the left. She was not alone, Norris had done the same. The older mage's hand was up though, his expression deadly serious and as his long grey hair blew back in an unnatural wind.

A crossbow bolt, its tip glinting of a yellowish liquid, floated in the air. It was suspended in mid-flight, clearly astray from both Norris and Terra but still too close for comfort. Terra pulled up the wolf-skin sleeve around her left arm, an orb of fire igniting just beneath her palm.

Norris and Terra both focused on their attacker in the distance.

Locke frowned. His arm pointed away from them, but that was only because another had pushed it aside. Sherwood was whispering something under his breath, clearly angered by Locke's action. The blond-haired Imperial growled as he pulled Locke's arm down.

"-too sensitive-" Terra could barely make out what the two were saying.

Norris was already making his way towards the two men. "What was that?" he was clearly agitated that he had been attacked, even though the bolt would not have hit him.

"Sorry Colonel," Locke replied.

Terra and Norris both frowned.

"Nothing to report up here, sir," Sherwood added before Norris could recover and continuing questioning. "Are we headed out?"

"Yes," Norris slowly took his gaze off of Locke. "Get your gear together. We're leaving within the hour."

"Sir," Sherwood saluted. He pulled on Locke's sleeve and the two men wandered back into the woods, presumably to pick up their packs.

"That was strange," Norris muttered as Terra joined his side.

Terra watched Locke's back as he disappeared into the field of trees, her hands resting against her hips. She had tried to speak with him since Gwendolen Ford, but he always had some flimsy excuse and slipped away. It had been infuriating, but she gave him the space he seemed to need. Still, it had been over a week...

The grey-haired half-Esper knelt, picking up the crossbow bolt with her gloved hands. She rotated the piece of ammunition between her fingers, examining the yellow glaze that had been applied to the tip. She brought it close to her nose and took a quick sniff.

Her frown deepened even more.

"Listen, Terra... I've been thinking about the shroud. You're right. This is a matter that cannot be ignored forever."

Terra dropped the crossbow bolt and directed her attention to Norris.

"I have a proposition for you."

---

It had been a long time since he saw her face. His heart skipped a beat when he saw her again, his breath quivering as he found himself overcome with emotion. His wife, his beautiful wife... and his son, still smiling at him. Their faces were full again, no longer gaunt from the poison.

But then the fires consumed them as they screamed his name. It had been a recurring nightmare, to imagine Imperial Magitek Armors storming in front of Castle Doma en masse. The Imperials had been bold enough to establish bases within visual range, arrogant enough to believe that Doma artillery was smashed, their cavalry routed, and infantry too few. Yet the Imperials still held their base effortlessly, nothing Cyan had done could change the fact that the Imperials were simply too numerous to fight.

They would have burned Castle Doma to the ground. Their cursed black machinations would have stormed within range, easy pickings for archers that no longer breathed, and let loose torrent after torrent of unholy flame. Everyone in the castle would have perished, trapped by the very walls that should have protected them.

Cyan had been lucky, that nightmare was never reality. Leo Christophe had been a man of honour. He had been unwilling to torch the castle because there had been so many women and children within. Yet the General was rejected thrice; his words fell on the deaf ears as he bargained for Castle Doma's surrender. Though the King had wanted to protect his people, he had been unwilling to submit to the arrogant Imperials. And even though his sleep was plagued by nightmares of Imperial Magitek Armors lined-up, hundreds, thousands... their red beams melting even solid stone, Cyan had said nothing to his liege.

His sword decapitated an Imperial pikeman.

Warfare had rules. When Kefka -- whose very name made his blood red-hot -- had taken over in Leo's absence, those rules had been broken. Until that day, Cyan had grudgingly respected the Empire. They were disciplined, well-trained, filled with intelligent officers and men of strong character. The war had been harsh but Cyan was experienced and decades of fighting had desensitized him.

Then came the poison, and Cyan had wanted nothing more than to see the Empire crushed and burned to ashes; another power-hungry domain that would be buried and forgotten in the annals of history. He had spent what seemed like a lifetime working with the Returners, binding together loose confederations and city-states of the Northern Continent under a common banner. He had done all in his power to raise an alliance that could threaten the Empire, until they had contacted the Espers in another realm.

To see an Imperial base aflame as it was, fences broken, barricades abandoned, and guards dead at their posts... it was a spectacle that he had dreamed of many times. But instead of happiness at a fantasy fulfilled, his heart pounded with dread.

Another Imperial soldier in the vanguard, a crossbow strapped to his back and short sword drawn, collapsed into the snow with his head split open.

Cyan reached the crest of a hill. Still hidden behind snow-covered evergreens, his gloved hand pushed aside a curtain of needles and revealed the collapsing defence of the Imperial supply depot. Ordered squadrons of five Magitek Armors, the smaller type he had seen in the forests of Doma during the latter days of the war, marched through the supply depot and fired their elemental cannons at concentrations of the defending forces. Dozens of soldiers surrounded each squad, protecting the pilots until the defences had been weakened. Walls, barricades, even towers fell at an astonishing rate.

The attackers were orderly in their systematic slaughter of the Imperial base. They did not give into bloodlust as they stormed through their former comrades. They turned the open ground between the base and the forest into a deathtrap, archers and mounted cavalry held in reserve to ambush any that tried to escape. Cyan knew at once that this was the New Order he had heard whispers about. This was Danielle Meras' enemy, the forces of the newly-crowned Emperor: Anson Tilton.

An explosion was heard from the back of the base, shaking the mountain with its ferocity, and then a fireball could be seen escaping out of the cavern tunnels. Thick black smoke rose into the air, adding to a great mass of dark clouds that had already formed from the rest of burning supply depot.

Cyan made up his mind. His eyes traced the shortest path to rescue Relm. There were no other thoughts on his mind, though he quickly mapped a detour towards Imperial command units. The New Order was too organized. They were fighting a textbook battle and that did not provide the chaos he needed to escape with Relm.

His cloak fell to the snow-covered ground.

Cyan Garamonde, Knight of Doma, did not fight for retribution or vengeance. Knowing this, he gripped his sword with more strength than he had felt in the past year. His eyes ignored the winter sun and its bright reflection upon the well-trodden snow. His blade struck true, ignoring plated armor and severing even chainmail. Bodies fell to the ground with each perfect blow, but Cyan was not one to admire his handiwork. He sheathed his sword once more and ran as fast as his legs would carry him.

More explosions were heard in the distance and thick knots of black smoke plumes rose high into the sky. The sun had just risen -- the enemy had attacked at dawn -- and Cyan barely made out the shapes of riders through the glare. Three men were charging directly at him: an unknown element that had somehow crossed the open field outside the range of positioned archers.

There was no anger in his heart, not this day. Only righteousness filled him: the need to protect and save a single life that meant more than the hundreds of fresh corpses in front of him. He was a Knight of Doma, not some lowbrow mercenary that was skilled in the way of the sword.

The riders were almost upon him, their weapons drawn when they realized the man before them would not cower.

Potent muscles in his right arm flexed as he drew his blade from its sheath; one fluid motion, an explosion of power from within. The longsword stopped as quickly as it had started, still horizontal to the ground.

Behind him, a spray of blood erupted. The first chocobo collapsed to the ground and crushed its rider beneath.

The second man was on him in the blink of an eye as the third flanked on the left. Cyan ducked under the swing of the second rider's sword, his own blade singing its deadly song. There was no wasted motion, two lightning-fast cuts and he gripped the reins of the last chocobo. He pushed the rider aside, chest opened with a deadly gash, and encouraged the bird forward. The base flew by at a dizzying pace, fences trampled, cadavers aplenty and cabins aflame.

The command unit Cyan had seen earlier had not yet moved. They noticed Cyan far too late, even though he was a rider that bore none of their colors. They had been over-confident; most of their protection away to speed-up the dismemberment of Danielle Meras' supply depot.

The chocobo trampled over many an officer with its powerful talons, bodies crumbling beneath hundreds of pounds of muscle and metal. Cyan's sword cut the men to his sides, but his mount had read his mind and killed almost as many as he did. The screams of the dying fell upon deaf ears and the few men that resisted were not enough. Within a minute, the entire upper-command of the New Order's battalion was dead. Cyan even killed several messengers retrieving orders for those at the front.

He hurried the bird towards a path that was burned in his memory, the same cobblestone trail that he had trod through for so long! It was reassuringly deserted and Cyan hoped that the New Order had decided to dismantle military targets first.

No such luck; the New Order was still Imperial and its tactics barbaric as ever. The cabins were all ablaze; Magitek Armors had blasted through the area and even set the frost-covered trees on fire with unholy magic. White hot flames devoured the log cabin that had been Relm's home, the deck outside littered with the bodies of Imperial soldiers. It would creak no more; most of it was burnt to a crisp and crumbled to ash even as Cyan watched.

Fire. Cyan's eyes watered as he fought the feelings of despair. It was happening again.

"Relm!" Cyan screamed with all his might. Not again! Not another child!

His head pounded in anger. His knuckles were white as he gripped his sword painfully. Not again...

An arrow grazed his shoulder and reminded him that he was defenceless. He was not even wearing leather armor, much less the proper plated mail that a Knight was known for. His chocobo leapt into action, but the storm of arrows was too much and both rider and bird fell to the ground.

Cyan rolled in the snow, his black hair swirling around his neck. His face was red with rage and once behind cover, he tore an arrow out of his shoulder. The pain was nothing compared to the realization that these men of the New Order had taken her life. Water dripped down his cheeks; sweat, tears, and melted snow mixed together.

His scream of anguish was cut short when he saw a faint glowing trail of blue light. It led from the back of her burning cabin, almost invisible in the midst of fierce orange-yellow inferno.

Relm was alive.

A brief grin came to his face, pride welling up from her display of intelligence. No doubt the magic was invisible to anyone but he, similar to how she played chess.

Cyan Garamonde charged recklessly, afraid the fading blue light would disappear forever. Arrows tore through his tunic and pants. Warm blood dripped down his arms and his legs burned from opened wounds, but he noticed none of it. Cyan moved at such a blind pace that he tripped over something hard, metallic, and black. His face hit the snow but he was on his feet instantly. He spared a glance at what he had fallen over.

It was a Magitek Armor.

The shielded cockpit was something new, but there was no mistaking the symbol of Imperial Might. This one was broken and the pilot inside pierced with many arrows. The machine had collided with an evergreen and collapsed to the ground, leaving one leg out like a tree root to trip Cyan. Still, the rest of the weapon seemed undamaged, and Cyan was an expert at determining whether Magitek Armor had been permanently disabled or not. His heart pounded twice as hard when his conscience caught up with the heretical thoughts of his mind.

The dead pilot was ripped out of his seat without ceremony, and Cyan Garamonde pushed buttons he had only touched once before. The words of Sabin drifted out of the fog that surrounded memories of that fateful day. Any and all feelings of unease at touching such machinery were ignored, moral qualms rebutted, fears burned away in a firestorm of need.

IMC-0839, Light-Patrol Class Magitek Armor, roared to life.

---

Yet another lash finally dropped him to his knees, and then even they buckled as another tore across his back. Tears of rage flowed freely, but there was nothing he could do as his head slammed into the unfriendly stone floor.

He could feel the blood dripping from the more brutal blows, welts opened from repeated strikes. His entire upper-body seemed aflame, not a single spot unafflicted by injury. His breaths came out in ragged gasps, causing him more pain as his throat was hoarse from screaming continuously. Sabin Rene Figaro gritted his teeth and put every bit of effort into staying conscious.

"Enough," a female voice without feminine qualities ordered. "Prepare it."

Red-hair framed a shadowy face. Sabin's vision seemed to waver and he could not concentrate for long, but he knew this particular tormentor. He knew her intimately.

Something was draped over his face so that he saw nothing. Both hands and legs were shackled by chains, though the latter with enough slack so that he could shuffle his feet and mimic walking. His head still spun with dizziness, he was so weak from the lack of both sleep and food that the grievous injuries throughout his body were almost an after-thought.

"Move it, savage."

He grunted as something cold and blunt jabbed into his side, sending renewed flares of pain down his spine. He was sure that he had a cracked rib or two, and the skin was red and flaking from rope burns. His back burned from the whip and there was a dull throbbing sensation in his forehead. His arms hurt whenever they were brushed against and he swore that his fingers did not respond when he tried to wiggle them.

Sabin shuffled forward blindly as they commanded, turning corners and up numerous stairs. At last he stopped, there was someone was ahead of him and he knew from experience that acting slow and dim-witted was better than showing motivation and strength.

He was shoved forward and all of a sudden, the damp, putrid smelling air that he had breathed for ages vanished. Instead, his lungs welcomed the brisk, fresh and cold winter air.

Winter.

Despite being unable to see, he could feel snow on his bare feet and ice-cold air soothed his naked, welt-covered upper-body. At last, Sabin had an idea how much time had passed. It had been difficult to judge whether it was day and night, he had been imprisoned within a dungeon that delved deep beneath the surface. There was never fresh air and certainly no windows to look outside.

Sabin's own internal clock had been broken rather quickly. He couldn't keep track of all the times he had fallen unconscious from overwhelming pain, lack of breath, drought or starvation...

It was winter, Sabin repeated to himself. Winter. These bastards had kept him locked up and tortured him for an entire season.

While there were certainly moments when recalling even his own name had been difficult, the last stretch had been lacking the excruciating pain he had tried to grow used to. Not once had he given in, and until the recent past, little mercy was shown. As a result, he was always half-awake, weak and rarely thinking with a clear-mind. But now...

"Put it into the wagon."

That voice. He focused on how much he loathed that female voice. It was cold, authoritative, and lacking any sympathy at all; he had heard her thousands of times from every angle, in every state of mind but a clear one.

Sabin felt hands grab a hold of his shoulders. He was lifted off the ground and was thrown into the air. With a crash, he landed in a thin bed of straw and rolled into the side of the wagon. He grunted again as his head smashed into something hard and unyielding. His chains had caught the side of his face and dug into his twisted leg.

The world was spinning again, but something was new.

Light.

The mask that had covered his face had been ripped off and Sabin narrowed his eyes as bright illumination flooded his vision. His eyes watered when he realized how long it had been since he had seen the light of day.

From his wardens there came cursing and orders barked, but no one moved to cover his face again. Sabin didn't stretch his good luck. He made sure he wasn't drawing any attention, and only after several minutes had passed did he roll onto his side. At last, he could see more than just the frost-covered wooden planks of the wagon and bits of straw scattered about.

Another wagon was behind them, chocobos standing around looking bored while some dozen brown-leather armored soldiers were carrying crates and stacking them atop each other. It looked like supplies, so Sabin surmised they were going somewhere far. Yet another dozen soldiers were standing guard, but none paid him any heed.

The sight of red hair caused Sabin's blood to boil. He could see her now, directing men to do her bidding. It was her, he knew it. He could recognize her from any angle. Every time he had collapsed to the ground in a pool of blood, or was pulled out of the water barely-conscious, or he let the darkness take him as they drove spikes into his body, or even when he was screaming while lightning coursed through his veins... every time, she had been there. She oversaw everything with a grin on her face.

Sabin glared at her back, as if he could burn holes through her with the intensity in his gaze.

Rolling over imperceptibly as the guards of his prison began to hop onto the wagons themselves, Sabin's imagination ran wild with what he would do to escape. The winter air had sparked something within him. He knew today, there would be a chance. This day would be unlike any other.

"Well savage-"

Sabin bit down on his lip as a vicious kick tore into his broken ribs. He tried to not cry out in pain, but the second -- faster, more brutal -- sent him head-first into the wagon side. Stars exploded in his vision and his head began to swim nauseatingly. He couldn't muster the strength to even roll over into a more comfortable position, instead he just laid there half-conscious in a crumpled heap.

"-I told you it's futile. The Patrician has finally agreed," he felt her breath against his ear. "You're all mine now."

The red-haired warden was all Sabin could concentrate on, his vision hazy as he stared up. She stood tall over him, a sneer on her face, with her arms folded. Grey robes, gloved hands, and a condescending look that told him he was nothing more than an animal in her eyes.

He would kill the Imperial bitch. The thought of that brought a smile to his face.

"Such a slow learner, but I won't tolerate it anymore."

A blow to face, and the world was black once more.

---

Cyan was amazed at the ease of which entire formations of Imperial soldiers vanished before repeated blasts of fire magic. The elemental cannons of the Magitek Armor had been something he had faced many times, but being on the other side of the targeting crosshair certainly had a different feel. A feeling of superiority rushed to his head. With the push of a button, dozens of men -- their hopes and dreams -- vanished in a blaze of crimson light.

He wondered why he had never done this before.

During the war, they had captured several Magitek Armors on particularly successful raids. Though they had been outnumbered in many cases, superior minds coupled with righteousness had seen them victory when none was expected. Some of his Knights had commandeered the machines, but Cyan had reprimanded them for such dishonour. Still, there was word that other Knights had gone so far to keep the machines for as long as they could until they were either killed in combat, or the Armor stopped moving of its own accord.

Perhaps had they a few Armors, the war might not have been lost.

As another concentration of New Order troops -- gathered in front of the caves and too far away to endanger Cyan -- disappeared in a blazing magical inferno, he felt invincible. He was like a god.

In that instant, he was repulsed by what he had done; by what he was doing. His stomach turned and his conscience screamed at him.

The distraction was enough for a strange white blob to catch the leg of IMC-0839. Suddenly, the machine was immobile, stuck to the ground by a mass of unyielding adhesive. A fire-beam followed, the Light-Patrol Class Magitek Armor collapsing as its right leg melted into a bubbling mass of dark metal. Cyan jumped out of the cockpit just as two more beams tore through the Armor's chest effortlessly, passing through delicate gears and pistons. A forest fire sparked to life and marked the termination of IMC-0839. The Armor would never move again.

But Cyan Garamonde was already on the ground and charging down an unmarked path. He felt no sorrow for the loss of the Imperial war machine. Instead, he concentrated on the blue trail that Relm left for him. It was growing stronger now; he was catching up! Footprints in the ground could be seen, hidden poorly due to haste. They led behind the base and around the mountain, across frozen creeks and unblemished conifers. The blue light led to a small cavern, its dark insides delving deep into the earth.

He drew his blade and entered with as much caution as possible. His eyes slowly adjusted to the pitch-black tunnel; the blue light showed its magical nature by glowing yet not illuminating the inside of the cavern. Cyan walked at a hurried, but controlled pace. His heart beat so fast that he was afraid it could be heard in the silence.

The tunnel branched out a few times and Cyan would have easily been lost in the maze had it not been for Relm's trail. It felt like an hour in which he wandered half-blind through the dark, paranoid of ambushes, fearful for the life of a child, but in all likelihood he doubted it was more than ten minutes. Finally he could hear the crisp clackering of lit torches. Dark walls curved left and right until suddenly, they were lit by flickering orange-yellow light.

Cyan was not a stealthy man, but one did not live as long as he had and not know prudence. His steps were noiseless as he rounded the final passageway. He pressed up against the rocky walls and looked around the corner.

Amazingly, there were several dozen soldiers in a large tunnel. They were sitting on top of crates of machinery and conversed quietly. Railway tracks ended where they camped, and it was obvious that the railcars would lead out of the mountain, not deeper where they could hide from the overwhelming forces outside.

Then his heart skipped a beat. Relm was pacing back and forth in the midst of the soldiers, impatient and uneasy. She jumped when he stepped into the tunnel, his foot stamping down loudly.

The Imperials all spun around at the noise, most bringing their weapons of choice into position. Relm was all smiles though as she ran towards him. "Cyan!" she cried out, louder than was prudent.

"Shh!" the soldier beside her, Irving, put a finger to his lips. The squad visibly relaxed when the little girl in their midst identified the intruder though, even if he didn't look to be one of theirs.

Cyan scooped Relm off the ground and hugged her close. "Well done dear one, well done," he whispered.

She beamed. "I knew you'd find us," she said with a hint of pride. Still held in his arms, Relm leaned back and took a good look at her saviour. "Are you crying?" she asked with a frown.

Cyan blinked away the unexpected wetness. "Not at all," he answered with a smile.

"Well, Cyan Garamonde, I knew you were thick-headed, but I honestly didn't expect you to track us," it was Paisley who spoke. He still pretended to be an inexperienced lad, but the fake-nervousness in his voice had disappeared.

"That's Garamonde?" one of the men whispered.

"You mean the Relentless?" someone else farther away said.

"Quiet! He might take offence to that!" yet another silenced his friend.

Cyan lowered Relm softly before addressing Paisley. "What's the situation?"

Paisley looked around. "Why are you asking me?" he said.

"The game is up," Cyan growled softly, irritated by the continuing act. "How long do we have to hold out here before reinforcements relieve us?"

Paisley narrowed his eyes and showed a sudden burst of suspicion that was nowhere near boyish.

"One of the men outside brought news that the assault is falling apart. It seems as if the New Order commanders suddenly lost grip with reality," Irving stepped between Paisley and Cyan. "We have orders to hold this position, there's a store of fuel in the tunnel beyond," he pointed behind him, "and word is that one of the enemy captains is organizing a strike."

As if bidden by those words, footsteps were heard from main entrance of the tunnel. "They're coming!" a young man shouted.

Cyan looked around and realized that nearly all the men here were rookies. They looked young and inexperienced. It was understandable that Danielle Meras would transfer men that would be a liability on the battlefield and staff them in less meaningful positions behind the frontlines, but that strategy was about to backfire.

It was also disturbingly similar to his last days in Doma, when all that remained of their once glorious army were young children whose fathers had fallen months before. They were no more than boys that had been given a bloodstained sword and sent to the butcher where they might take their first swing before dying upon the blade of the enemy. These Imperials were not as untrained, but the similarities could not be ignored.

"Paisley, take command," Cyan said as he stormed through the crowd of rapidly panicking soldiers. "I will stand beside you," he declared.

Paisley scowled at Cyan with disbelief and surprise, but as he heard the echoing battle-cries of the enemy, he turned around and began issuing orders loudly and authoritatively. The boyish smile was gone, replaced with the cold detachment of an officer in the Imperial Armed Forces. It seemed the rookies responded to his change without question, they stood firm in formation and did not waver as booming cries of the enemy grew fiercer.

"Dear one, stay behind and do not stray," Cyan whispered to Relm. He had lowered to one knee and brushed her hair aside. "Do you understand me?"

Relm nodded. "I'll help," she stated passionately. A sparkle of yellow light danced from her palm.

"Just keep safe," Cyan knew better than to argue. He stood and took up position beside Paisley, behind a few men that were lucky enough to have tower shields. His mind analyzed the possibilities and planned his and Relm's escape in the midst of chaos.

"Listen Cyan, I just wanted to-" Paisley started.

Javelins slammed into tower shields with tremendous force, several of the boys buckling from inexperience. The screaming of the enemy was so loud that Paisley was drowned out.

Then a man behind them, one that did not look out of place beside the bulk of Irving, raised his fist into the air. His shout was lost in the deafening noise of the tunnel, but those around him did not mistake it. They joined in, and soon the makeshift platoons were chanting as one.

"For the glory of the Empire!"

"For the glory of the Empire!"

"FOR THE GLORY OF THE EMPIRE!!!"

The ring of metal rang clear as a thundering charge slammed into tower shields and readied pikes. The battle had begun and Cyan watched as those at the front were crippled and killed. Bodies hit the ground with spearheads embedded deep the chests of young men. They were falling back, how could they not against such a vicious assault? Inexperience could not stand firm against experience, and several dozen more collapsed before the Knight of Doma made up his mind.

Cyan raised his blade into the air and caught the torchlight, his ferocious cry cutting through the metallic clash of blades.

The symbol was not lost on the defenders, and Cyan's bullrush was joined by dozens of equal mind.

Cyan Garamonde decapitated his enemies and spun in the thick of action. It was difficult to tell who was who and instead of allowing that to slow his blade, Cyan charged deeper. No arrows flew and elemental beams were silent. There were no distractions; this was an honourable battle between warriors. Cyan felt a rush of adrenaline and cried in triumph as Imperial after Imperial fell before his blade. His retorts were unstoppable, his thrusts unparried, and his slashes opened multiple men at once.

The New Order fell back and Paisley's command stormed forward to fill their place. Cyan was quickly surrounded by Imperials that were now his allies and instead of following their lead, he held back and searched for Relm.

"No!" Cyan screamed. He charged with all his might.

Relm barely avoided losing her head as a spear thrust past. A blast of ice came from her fingertips and smashed into the face of her attacker. As he fell to the ground, face dripping with blood and screaming from pain, a second man attempted to sever the young magic user apart with his broadsword.

Spells were dangerous at such close proximity, and Relm's hair was suddenly shoulder-length as the blade passed inches above her neck. She screamed, yellow sparkles dancing uselessly from her fingertips. Her right hand gripped a knife -- proportionately a short sword considering her size -- in a defensive stance. But it was clear to any trained warrior that it was mimicry; she knew little more than how to brandish the blade.

With a roar, Cyan cleaved the man's head off. He maintained his guard but no one was near. "Are you alright, dear one?" the Knight asked.

Relm nodded, her face flushed and breaths coming out in ragged gasps.

Cyan saw that the side-tunnel he had entered through was swamped with men. Of course the battle would rage there, he thought with disdain. "Follow and keep close," he said. It was time to make his move.

He left a trail of blood as they made their way to the only escape route, wading into the thick of battle as Cyan swung from side to side. It was easy defending Relm when she was close. Her height offered an advantage of non-interference, so that she could be within his circle of influence without affecting his blows. Her magic helped a bit, generally blunting a fast charge before he slew the attacker. In this manner, the pair approached the side-tunnel.

Cyan was dimly aware that Paisley was behind him. The Doma Knight turned about and dropped two more pikeman, moving towards his escape route. The battle was thinning out and it was clear that the defenders were winning.

Paisley fought with two short swords, swinging them about like knives. It was without grace but killed nonetheless. But the Lieutenant was in Cyan's way. The Knight of Doma fought at Paisley's side, his Doma-forged blade crippling the arm of a large axeman before slashing across the chest. He turned, intent on accidentally killing Paisley.

The young officer was overextended, both swords locked with the blades of another man. Behind him, a New Order soldier prepared for a mighty thrust of a spear.

Cyan slew the pikeman and followed through by killing Paisley's opponent. The two men locked eyes in the midst of the battlefield, torchlight flickering in their eyes. Surprise was clear on each man's face.

The moment was broken as another of the New Order stepped into their path. Paisley slew the unlucky interloper before charging back into the chaos. Seconds passed, Cyan doing little more than defending as he thought about what he had just done. He searched for Relm and perhaps try to salvage what remained of his plan. She was close to his feet, a questioning look clear on her face. Her mouth formed words that were drowned out by the sound of battle, but Cyan read her lips clearly.

And then the battle was won. A cheer could be heard from the men as the New Order retreated, barely one in ten had lived long enough to turn tail and even then, their survival was still debatable as the momentum reversed. The once-inexperienced rookies were victorious and overwhelmingly so. They had held the line of defence and pounced on enemy footmen that had grown too comfortable with archer and Magitek support.

As someone closed in behind him, Cyan spun and almost killed without reservation. But yet again he paused before blade met flesh.

Irving had a bright smile on his face and clasped Cyan's shoulder. "I saw what you did!" he cried out with the gusto of a man who had seen the impossible. "Cutting your way through dozens of soldiers, defending the little girl at the same time, all just to save Paisley!" he shouted between ragged gasps. Irving pulled Cyan into the crowd of soldiers. "Sir Cyan coming through!" he shouted in a deep rumbling voice reserved for Sergeants.

Men raised their fists in the air as they cheered his name. Cyan looked around in wonder as they chanted for him. Young men, most still bleeding, shook his hand, patted his back or clasped his arms. They were all smiles as they thanked him, praised his bravery and complimented him on his heroics. Several offered him water from their canteens, others foul-smelling spirits from their secret stash, and there was even a teenaged-girl -- holding an axe with the experience of a lumberjack twice her age -- that actually batted her eyelashes. Irving pulled Cyan through the crowd, the makeshift platoon was still several-dozen strong and spread throughout the railway tunnel, until they reached Paisley.

The officer turned to him, his blades still dripping blood. Paisley had been amongst the men that charged after the retreating New Order soldiers, killing them all to the last man. The boyish face with a cold demeanour looked Cyan in the eyes. First impressions had been proven wrong.

Twin blades slammed into the ground and silenced the crowd of bloodied men. His fist went to his heart.

"Three cheers for Sir Cyan Garamonde!" Lieutenant Paisley shouted as he raised his fist into the air.

The echoes of the Imperial soldiers rumbled throughout the mountain.

---

Sabin wiped the blood off his mouth.

He leaned against the cold bark of a tree trunk, ragged breaths misting in the winter air. His foot idly kicked aside a broken wooden wheel. It wobbled and rolled, until it was stopped by a fresh cadaver. Their blood was still warm, steadily melting through the hard-packed snow of the ground. But they were dead. All of them were dead.

Sabin had ensured that.

The sky was blue and the sun beat down upon him. He smiled underneath that wonderful warm light, free at last. He had lost track of the days while imprisoned in that deep, accursed dungeon. He pushed aside the dark memories of those days, for the hurts were still fresh throughout his body. His ribs were cracked, he had open welts all over his skin, his right arm seemed to groan in pain every time he raised it, and even all his nails had been pulled out.

One blood-red eye slowly rolled to the right. He gazed past the broken carcasses of the wagons, several bodies collapsed both on top and beneath them. He ignored dead chocobos as well, heaped against great unyielding pines. The snow-covered dirt path was unbroken ahead, and in the distance, it looked like a deer...

Sabin's gaze paused on one crippled body. A leg had been snapped in half and twisted behind the back. One hand was a mangled mass of flesh, the other swung side to side; it was attached only by the skin. Red hair had been caught underneath spokes of the wagon wheel. She should have been dead, but Sabin supposed not everything could go the way he planned; certainly not in recent memory had anything gone as he planned.

He bent down despite the groans of protest from his back. He lifted the chin of the woman who was very close to death, and glared at her straight in the eye.

"Still alive?"

A sneer appeared, despite the pain it must have caused her. The entire left side of her face was already purple and black, and the right would soon follow. Despite trying, Sabin felt no sympathy for her.

"That's a yes," he answered his own question. Sabin stood up and stretched once more, inadvertently letting a moan of pain escape his lips. He hurt all over and no matter how he tried to ignore it, it was too much even for him.

"You can't escape," a raspy whisper was all she had been capable of. It was followed by coughing and the sound of blood gurgling within the throat as the woman struggled to breathe.

Sabin glanced down at his former jailor. He smiled at the irony. "Yes, I think you said that quite a few times trying to break me. Fortunately, just like that constant blather about inevitability, you were wrong."

More coughing... and a strange flick of the wrist.

Sabin caught the motion out of the corner of his eye. He had seen many gestures like that in the past while. It had been almost all he could concentrate on, as he steadily memorized and stowed away each unconscious inclination. In a flash of the eye, his hand slapped down against hers, and he followed through with a vicious strike to her broken leg.

An ear-piercing scream echoed throughout the countryside.

"Nice try," Sabin growled. "I should have known you would never beg for mercy, you Imperial magic-wielding bitch."

She must have been seeing stars, for her eyes rolled in their sockets while she twitched uncontrollably. Sabin waited for her to regain her senses. He knew she wouldn't die just yet. In the meantime, he crossed his legs and meditated. Instead of inner peace though, all he could do was think about the past. Funny how that was, when he locked in a dungeon away from the light of day and barely conscious from the pain of torture, he tried with all his might to recall fond memories and better times. Now all he desired was solace and that was being denied.

Of course, his heart was still beating furiously. Adrenaline pumped throughout his veins and his head throbbed. If he didn't concentrate, everything would become blurry. He didn't really remember what he had done or how the wagon had ended up in such a manner. It was all just a haze of blood spraying in his face, people screaming all around him, and the impacts against his fists.

The sound of coughing; she was finally conscious again. Sabin took a seat beside her on the cold, densely packed snow. He didn't mind sitting in half-frozen blood, the pants he wore were not his and neither was the crimson puddle. He leaned against the broken wagon beside her.

"Now we're going to have a long talk," Sabin said. He glanced over at his jailor. The world seemed to spin a little and the outsides of his vision were filled with snow. "You're going to tell me everything, starting with where the hell Siana is, or else your last hours on this world will seem like eternity."

"The Patrician personally chose me for this," the woman gasped. "You won't break me, savage,"

"This won't be the first time you're wrong," Sabin replied impassively. He grabbed a spoke and tore it out with one hand; a splintered makeshift spear would do. "Let's begin."

---

Cyan wiped the sweat off his brow, the drops of salty water almost freezing the instant they left his hands. His breath came out in ragged gasps as he basked in the pleasant sensation of overcoming physical adversity. His heart was pounding and his head was spinning, but the exertion was a welcome distraction. Exercise always felt great once it was over.

He had not climbed very high; it had been a hike up an old trail. Rope was unnecessary and Cyan doubted that it would be difficult to make his way back down the mountain, even in the pitch-dark night. His pack hit the ground noisily; it was filled with survival gear just in case he decided to make camp. His sensitive ears made out a low rumble to the east.

In the darkness of the night, under heavy cloud cover and with nary a torch in sight, Cyan looked towards what he assumed to be the Gap of Reddenhurst. It was difficult. He was unfamiliar with the area and its landmarks. Even with superb nightvision, Cyan could not make out much. The Knight of Doma almost wished he had the pair of lenses that Edgar possessed; binoculars to assist one's far-sight. He had avoided and detested such mechanical tools in the past -- they were an unnecessary crutch that men should not have to depend on -- but their usefulness could not be denied.

But that rumbling, it was such a familiar sound. Like raindrops in the night, it was almost relaxing in its consistency.

Noting that not an evergreen needle was vibrating, Cyan decided to ignore the rumbles and instead got comfortable in a bed of moss. The day had passed and he was in need of solitude.

No, he was in need of a friend to speak to.

With Sabin on the run and Edgar sailing the high-seas, Cyan Garamonde realized he had no one to turn to and rely upon for support. It was a depressing thought, one that made him ache for Elayne. He was alone, surrounded by the Empire, and filled with conflict.

The situation was of his own making. A moment of doubt, the briefest of brief, had caused him to hesitate when he could have slew Paisley. The result would have been escape with Relm, away from the Empire and away from the strife of the Imperial Civil War. He could have easily protected Strago's granddaughter until they found seafaring passage back north, or perhaps escape east as Sabin had. It had been such a perfect plan.

But it was not him. He was a Knight of Doma. How could he turn his blade on an ally in battle? Such treachery was far beneath his station. How could he sink so low, even for Relm's sake? Was that not the reason he ran away from the Imperial celebrations? Because the overwhelming shame was too much?

Cyan sighed loudly. He did not think he could have lived with the dishonour of striking Paisley down. The man was an assassin, of that he had no doubt. He was of low-character and were he in Doma, Cyan would have brought Paisley as a criminal to be tried and executed. Yet not only had he had paused when given the chance to cut down such rabble, he had even protected the man. Had he simply held back, Paisley would have died to the blade of their common-enemy. Surely that was an honourable end, for it was battle and Cyan was simply too slow to save his overextended ally.

No. He could lie to others, convince them otherwise... but he could not lie to himself. How could he face Elayne again if he had fallen into such disgrace? How could he uphold the banner of Doma with such dishonour?

Doma... the Imperials in the tunnel had reminded him so much of those final days. It turned his stomach to make the comparison, but he could not ignore the truth. Both the men of Doma and the men of the Empire had reacted the same way, looked up to him for support and followed him faithfully against a superior foe. They had both fought with... honour.

Cyan ground his teeth in frustration. Rescuing Relm would prove difficult if he was reluctant to bring his blade to bear against her wardens.

In the distance, the night was suddenly lit by an unearthly red glow. The ambience abruptly disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. Cyan bolted upright. He recognized that glow in the pitch-black night. How could he not? It had plagued his nightmares for months.

A Magitek Fire Beam.

More appeared and disappeared, but the beams had not stopped firing of their own accord. They cut off too quickly, without the slow cool-down that all elemental cannons employed. It did not gradually fade but was quick, like a candle snuffed out by the wind.

Then came the flares. A multitude of bright fireworks were launched into the sky, and ending that display of coloured lights was a single yellow spark that glowed brighter than the rest. Cyan felt shivers down his spine. He knew that the Imperial Army only communicated in such a manner during their direst hours. Barely a moment passed before humanity played God.

Fire rained down from the cliffs. Red beams of light lit the battlefield as they blasted through the frigid air, gouts of flame spiralling around each pillar of magical inferno. Snow vanished in a heartbeat, and each wide-spread beam tunnelled into the naked ground for a brief second. Then came the explosions; fireballs that lit up the night and rose sky-high while a ring of flame expanded from the center of each impact. In that light, Cyan could see the thousands of men that were charging entrenchments within the Gap of Reddenhurst. There were so many that it looked as if the hills themselves were moving. Cyan whispered a prayer for the departed souls that would soon follow.

In seconds, hundreds of men were vaporized in a red haze of magic, and hundreds more fell to the ground covered in flames. They screamed in pain, reached out for the help of their dying comrades, and perished a nameless death. Those that had families would be remembered and missed, never again to see the faces of their loved ones or to watch as their children grew. But many more had no families, no lovers, and would simply be forgotten. They would just be another corpse, part of a numerical statistic that would be associated with the civil war. Their hopes, their dreams, and their lives would never be remembered.

But upon the field of carnage and death, the dying had friends. They had comrades that did not forget, did not ignore, and were not numbed to the screams of pain. Hundreds of Armors upon the field opened fire with their elemental cannons. Beams of flame and ice crashed into the mountainside, illuminating the smooth, magically-hewn walls of solid stone that protected what Cyan knew to be the Gaston Cliffs. The sight of Magitek Armors upon the cliffs could be clearly seen in the magical cascade -- their immobile positions given away the moment they fired -- and so it was that the Imperial Army tore apart the mountainside. Dark unnatural stone did not give way to hundreds of elemental beams, instead the pillars of energy broke apart and splattered down the mountain as a storm of cascading liquid flame. The base of the mountain was consumed in an inferno, a forest fire of such magnitude that it nearly illuminated the entire Gap of Reddenhurst much like the sun.

Those upon the Gaston Cliffs returned fire, not just elemental warfare, but thousands of fire-tipped arrows rained down upon the armies of General Meras. Armors were consumed in miniature fireballs that dotted the plains, too numerous to count, but did not falter in the face of imminent death. In retort, ice and fire magic tore through the mountains faster than either alone. First the sky-blue storms, then the raging infernos of hell. The sorcerous stone could not hold back such energy and buckled, beams burrowing their way into the rocky cliffs and cleaving them apart. The avalanche that followed could barely be described as such, as the peak of a mountain had been shorn away and collapsed into the raging firestorm below.

Barely ten minutes had passed as two of the greatest armies in existence engaged in warfare, and already the world would be scarred forever. It trembled in anticipation.

Cyan's military mind followed the display coldly, making sense of what he saw and what he knew. The Imperial had three types of Magitek, the small ones that he had piloted, a larger one that was their mainstay, and an artillery unit that was so unwieldy he had never seen it deployed in warfare. The mainstay made up the majority of those upon the ground; without the overwhelming power of those units upon the cliffs, their sheer numbers, excellent support, and superior coordination had quickly overwhelmed the outermost war machines above them. However, those cliffs were still rife with the largest of Magitek. It was a stalemate, artillery that was a threat but held back; for the cost of firing was to reveal their positions to a fatal counterattack.

The Imperials were adapting to the tactics used by their former comrades.

Cyan watched, breathless, from his vantage point high above the scene of battle. He could not make out details, but for the veteran of the Doma War, that level of detail was unnecessary. He was more than intimate with the Imperial War Machine. And as the minutes passed and the death toll rose, as chocobos were slaughtered and men skewered, as Magitek Armors fell and fortresses exploded, Cyan came to a single, undeniable conclusion.

The Empire was dying.

And his heart, the heart that had suffered through the deaths of thousands of close friends and countrymen, the heart that had languished through the callous killings of his liege and the Doma nobility, the heart that had died when Elayne and Owain had departed aboard the Phantom Train... that heart felt empty.

All his work in the past year had been for a single goal. Now that had been achieved, and the Empire would surely fall in the warfare that was to follow. Yet... he felt nothing. No sense of victory, happiness, or even an air of smug contentment that he had avenged his family in some small fashion.

Cyan turned away from the carnage -- from the sight of a single cavalry charge led by someone as devoted as the men who followed were fanatical -- and thought about what mattered... what truly mattered to him.

An hour into the Third Battle of Reddenhurst, a climatic showdown between two factions of the Empire that would decide whether the next dozen years would be that of continuous warfare, Cyan Garamonde began the steady climb down the mountainside. The Knight of Doma had known that no amount of Imperial blood would ever bring back his wife and son, but had not realized how little it meant to him whether the Empire rose or fell. As he carefully made his way through the thick brush and deadly cliffs -- his ears assaulted by the sounds of battle -- he only thought of one thing.

Relm.

---

Sabin had still been staring in mute horror long after the sun set in the west. There was simply no reaction that could convey the disgust and hatred that flowed through him.

The woman had cracked in the end, and perhaps another time Sabin would have been ashamed of what he had done. But it was difficult to feel any sympathy for someone that had tormented him for such a long time. Even the seasons had changed during his imprisonment, and every waking hour in between that had not been spent screaming in pain had been spent trying to hang onto sanity. He had drifted out of consciousness as often as one blinked, perhaps more when he considered the growing pain in his eyes.

His chief tormentor called herself a Compatriot; apparently she was of the Patrician's inner circle. Between her inane rants about the place of magic in the world and its disgusting lack of order, Sabin had learned that he was far from the only one she had... 'treated'.

He wasn't sure whether she was truly delusional or highly skilled at deceit. The things she had said about Enlightenment and the Guild, it was just too incredulous to be true. She gave no impression that she was stupid, far from it. She was a Magitek Knight, one of the Empire's finest. Whatever had caused her to fall into such insanity was truly disturbing.

Before she died though, Sabin had gotten the location that Siana was being held at. The so-called Compatriot had resisted naming names, instead referring to them as savages and animals. Sabin had worked long in order to convince her otherwise. If anything she said was to be believed, then Siana was in Pierpoint. It was all Sabin had to go on. He was apparently to be transferred there as well, for they had felt that their testing of new methods had come to a conclusion and they would use older, tried and true techniques.

Experimentation to achieve what end, the son of Figaro did not know.

Sabin had not bothered hiding his escape. No one had arrived throughout the day as he interrogated the woman, and he doubted many travelled to Pierpoint by that route at all. Instead he had feared that the city was far away and too heavily populated to safely infiltrate.

He had been wrong on both accounts.

Sabin began to breathe again; his mind finally finished digesting the shock that would leave permanent scars in his soul. Long after sunlight disappeared and Pierpoint was flooded by darkness, a despairing Sabin looked up at the hanging corpses once more and his heart seized in anguish. He fell to the ground into a cushion of snow. White flakes covered his face, melting almost immediately as they touched his skin. They ran off his cheeks and mixed in with the salty tears that flowed without reservation.

Sabin had never seen anything like it, nor did he ever wish to see such again. They had been children. Children! How could anyone have done such a thing?

The sound of footsteps! Sabin pushed himself off the ground and opened his mouth in shock.

It was a man in blood-drenched rags that hung haphazardly from his body. In the night, Sabin could not make out much detail. He knew the man was turned away, and his hair was dishevelled with patches of dirt forcing the strands into giant clumps. It was another escaped prisoner! His hopes renewed at this development, Sabin dashed over to his fellow captive.

Only several feet away, the prisoner suddenly dashed off down an alleyway. "Wait!" Sabin cried out. "I'm on your side!"

The martial artist almost slipped on a patch of ice as he turned the corner, but quickly regained his balance and chased after the only other living soul in Pierpoint. Sabin had to find out what had happened and whether this fellow had been through the same ordeal as he. They were linked together by a common enemy; surely they could cooperate to survive.

Sabin's heels dug into the packed snow as he came to a halt. Mouth agape, the martial artist watched in surprise as an axe tore through solid stone. The escaped captive was a blur of motion, swinging his huge double-bladed weapon wildly, and toppled pillar after pillar of an obscene tribute -- it was a marble fountain but skeletons were piled into the dish and frozen in a pool of unknown liquid. The fugitive was gripped by an uncontrolled storm of anger that Sabin had never seen the likes of. The martial artist thought his fellow captive was screaming at one point, but he couldn't seem to figure out exactly what the man was saying.

The man dropped his axe and from the rubble, picked up a metal beam that might have once braced a ceiling. He swung it from side to side and knocked down a building by its foundation, then tossed it aside. He picked up the axe again and suddenly, Sabin realized that this was making quite a bit of noise.

"Hey, stop that!" Sabin cried out. "I know how you feel, I'd join you if my hands weren't so sore, but you're going to bring them down on both of us!"

The escaped captive stopped, but only because the monument had been destroyed. He jumped to the ground, landing on both feet, and then dashed off again.

"He's absolutely crazy," Sabin growled, beginning to grow impatient. Even if he caught up with the insane man, it probably wouldn't help his odds of survival. Actually, it might worsen them quite a bit.

But Sabin ran after the man anyways. If only for the company, for craziness was still better than nothing. But the shape was always ahead of him by one step and never responded to his desperate cries. It was impressive how much stamina the former-captive had, equivalent to Sabin's, if not better. The martial artist ran through the deserted streets of Pierpoint after a crazed fugitive, trying his best not to notice the corpses that surrounded him. It was not difficult to follow; there was always a trail of rubble left by a mighty battle-axe or the sound of incessant screaming.

Another patch of ice! Sabin cursed as his knees hit the snow and he slammed headfirst into the ground. He rolled onto his back -- head swimming dizzily, nose bloody and bells ringing -- and forced himself back to his feet.

The other man was gone.

Sabin cursed his foul luck. He started to wander the pitch-dark streets, listening carefully for the noise that the crazy man must have been making. Twice he walked into a building before he managed to straighten his path. As he continued down the road, he noticed that many of the bodies that had once hung from nooses were on the ground, and many more obscene monuments torn down. He swore that just earlier that day, he had been staring blankly at them for hours and they had not been in such a state. But no one had come by recently aside from the fugitive and himself. Certainly the other man could not have had so much time -- considering the state his body was in -- to destroy so much.

And then he bumped into another pillar. His eyes followed the wooden shaft to its top and the eyes of a child, forever frozen in her death throes, stared back at him.

Tears ran down his face anew. In the darkness of the deserted city of Pierpoint, Sabin cried for all the innocents that had died here. All the women and children that had been killed in what looked to be a ritual fashion, sacrificed for some evil god. It was a blessing that the sun had sunk beyond the horizon, for seeing all the spikes in which bodies were driven whole, skins torn from flesh, bodies mutilated and twisted into obscene devilish statues, it might have driven a man insane.

He still felt dizzy, his head swam and Sabin continued to wander away. It wouldn't be until the next day, when he had woken up, that he would note that the damage to those evil displays was not done with a sharp tool. Tens, maybe hundreds of blunt impacts had broken the evidence of malicious crimes against humanity.

It wouldn't be until the next day that Sabin Rene Figaro realized he could not speak, his throat was so hoarse. His fists would be bloodied and bruised, his feet were swollen and his back seemed to ache with every movement.

But if anyone cared to listen, they could still hear words screamed over and over again, echoing through the dead city of Pierpoint.

"Empire of murderers!" 


	14. The Raging Tempest

**The Fourteenth Chapter - The Raging Tempest**

Edgar scrambled onto the deck. 

"There you are! The Captain has been screaming for you," a young Midshipman pointed towards the bow.

Edgar grunted in acknowledgement and made his way through the crowded deck. Bells were ringing and battlestations declared, but Edgar had been busy looking over the Imperial cannons and didn't realize what was going on until a gun crew interrupted his analysis of the Empire's metallurgy.

"King Edgar," the Captain of the Tiernay greeted him. The Imperial was dressed in a dark undress coat, the long-sleeved garment swishing just above the knee as the man steadied himself. The vessel was rocking side to side with some vigour -- Edgar turned to see some dozen youths scaling the masts and unfurling the sails -- and the winds were only intensifying.

"What's going on?" Edgar growled.

"One of our sloops was spotted on the horizon. Flags flown indicated they had seen the sails of the enemy."

"They're not enemies yet!" Edgar corrected. "I gave specific orders-"

"And they're being ignored," the Captain interrupted. "The Admiral will not have us unprepared if we are engaged by your people. I asked for your presence not because I wanted to argue about tactics, but because you need to make a hard choice."

With only an hour or two more before they reached the coast, Edgar's scouting strategy had been perfect until this moment. It was critical point though. "What did they encounter?" Edgar snapped. He had no intention of engaging his own navy, but they couldn't retreat easily. That would give the Figarian Navy more time to collect reinforcements, making subsequent attempts at a stealthy landing almost impossible!

"A fleet of battleships."

Edgar turned around; Strago had just climbed back into the Tiernay. His red robes were soaked with seawater and his hair slickened back. A thick, bearded man accompanied the old lore-master, sweat-soaked white tunic telling how hard he had rowed.

"Strago!" Edgar knew his friend had decided to join one of sloops, he was going to try to use his magic to help detect faraway vessels.

Strago turned to sailor beside him and whispered a few words. As the man departed, the lore-master wiped his brow of sweat and addressed Edgar. "We got back as soon as we saw a fleet arrayed against us."

"A fleet? Impossible!" the Captain of the Tiernay narrowed his eyes. "Either this is the worst luck in the history of the Empire, or they knew we were headed in this direction. There's no possible reason for such vessels to already be together." He glared suspiciously at Edgar.

Edgar raised his hands defensively. "I haven't been in contact with anyone outside of the fleet and you know this. The answer is incompetence of course, that's what's gotten us into this mess!"

"Gentlemen!" Strago interrupted. "There are four ships of the line and some dozen smaller vessels bearing towards us, so this is certainly not the time to bicker!"

"Contact the Diodorus," Edgar ordered. There were only two battleships in the Imperial fleet, certainly not enough to engage the Figarian vessels. "We need to retreat. I want every single ship back; we'll need all of them if we're to get out of this in one piece."

The Captain of the Tiernay folded his arms. "Mister Magus, was the Figarian Fleet already in formation?"

Strago nodded grimly. "This was an ambush, simple as that."

"What kind of shape and how near the coast?" the Captain gestured and one of the younger boys aboard the vessel scurried over. "Get us some parchment," he ordered.

"I don't intend on fighting!" Edgar yelled after the boy had left.

"We may have the opportunity to cross their line of battle with our ships, considering the weather-gauge," the Captain pointed out. The Imperial fleet had its back to the wind and that meant superior speed, not to mention a slight boost to the range of their cannons. "They wouldn't expect that! It's not particularly advantageous for us to do such a thing when they're so close to the coast."

The boy returned and scribbled as Strago pointed out what he remembered. The resulting diagram of their situation was terribly drawn. Yet it was easy to make out the X's lined up ready to interpose if the Imperial fleet were to cut towards the coast.

"And what would be the point of sailing in?" Edgar glared at the Imperial sailor. "Like you said, that would drive us towards the coast," he took the opportunity to scrawl a line just above the X's representing the Figarian fleet. "We'd be hemmed in by their superior numbers and we'll give up what little advantage we have in the wind."

"You are correct, it is generally folly to do such a thing. We'll need to plan this carefully and make haste to avoid exposing ourselves to their broadsides."

Edgar frowned. "You know that's impossible. I was quite clear that Imperial ships cannot make the speed of their Figarian counterparts."

"Perhaps King Edgar, but both this ship and the Diodorus are outfitted with an elemental cannon instead of the standard chaser."

Edgar's eyes went wide. "What?" he whispered as goosebumps ran down his spine. An elemental cannon, at the front of the ship? "How could you have hidden such information from me?"

The Captain of the Tiernay gave him a toothy grin. "Imagine their surprise when fire beams rake across their ships, even if we don't carve'em in half, we'll set them aflame! Their greed to capitalize on what looks to be a tactical mistake will lead to their destruction."

Edgar swallowed back his revulsion, knowing that the Imperial was correct. "I won't allow it. It's too risky," he lied.

"You duplicity is ill-advised, Mister Figaro, you have certainly failed the choice you were given. Now the decision is no longer yours to make," the Captain of the Tiernay turned away. "The Admiral will decide our course."

Edgar rubbed his temples in frustration, well aware that the Imperial Captain had made up his mind and there was nothing he could do about it. Furthermore, he knew what the decision would be.

They were going to slaughter thousands of Figarian sailors, and it would be his fault.

---

"What the hell is going Norris?"

A trio of chocobos dug their feet into the icy ground and came to a halt. In the background, the roar of continuous explosions almost drowned out the irate Major-General.

Karen Alysworth, one of the most powerful Imperial officers due to her command of over sixty-thousand men, swore as she landed on the ground. She wore a mask of annoyance as she angrily flicked back a lock of auburn hair. The grinning mischievous old-man before her only incited a blistering scowl.

"Karen. It's always a happy moment when I see you," a recently clean-shaven Norris Ferdinand leaned against a leafless tree. He was accompanied by only one person, Terra Branford. The two magic-users were unperturbed by the female officer's wrath.

"Answer my question Colonel," Karen strolled underneath the skeletal canopy of a forest near Maley's Point. She might have been far away from her loyal minions, but the aura of authority did not weaken in the slightest. She was still as imposing as she had been the first night Terra had met her, deeper into the Province of Alfort-Broughnam and seemingly removed from the bloodbath that had been the Imperial Civil War. There were differences though: her hair was longer, the wrinkles had deepened beneath her eyes, but most noticeable were the scars that trailed down the side of her face. Terra had first-hand experience with those types of wounds; they had been caused by burns from an incredibly hot fire.

Trailing the Major-General were two familiar faces: the one-eyed Miles and unassuming Gossman. "If you haven't noticed," Karen continued, "there is a war going on! I am needed to direct our forces and I don't appreciate being pulled out of my tent to meet some upstart Magitek Knight far away from the front!"

Norris grinned. "Miles snuck through your cordon of bodyguards, I take it."

Karen reddened even more. Behind her, Miles and Gossman acknowledged their commander's theory.

"We're the best for a reason," Norris continued. "Miles, Gossman, you're dismissed for now. I need to speak with Karen," he turned away from the brown-haired General and strolled deeper into the forest. "Please, Karen, walk with me."

Terra waited until Karen grudgingly followed Norris and then did the same.

"Norris-"

"I needed a location where I could be sure we would not be overheard," Norris interrupted. There was a certain sanguine quality to his voice that was out of place with the roar of battle in the background. "My men have this area cordoned; it'll be safe to talk here."

Karen cast a sidelong glance of suspicion at Terra, who stared back unconcerned. "What is it?" the emotion bled out of her voice quickly, a professional soldier's attitude settling in instead. "Where is Colonel Eric?"

Norris pulled two folders out of his robes, each sealed by wax. He handed the documents to Karen. "Fanshaw is destroyed. The walls have fallen, her peoples slaughtered. Nothing remains there, not even the men loyal to our side," he summarized plainly.

Karen was wide-eyed in surprise. "That is impossible," she stated blankly.

"I am of the opinion that Drummond did it, and with assets numbering at least two divisions."

"What of Camiel?"

"Destroyed. We made sure," Norris stopped in the midst of the forest; they had gone deep enough. He levelled a steady look at Karen, their eyes making contact. "Drummond is dabbling in dark magic, spells that could tip the balance in his favour. My men were attacked. Not many survived. They almost got me and Terra."

Silence, or as close to silence as that war-ridden section of the world could get. Great booming sounds still echoed in the distance, rolling across the countryside similar to pressure waves. They came in bursts, each lasting several minutes before quieting for a few more.

"Horrible news," Karen remarked at last. "However, it still doesn't explain why I am here."

Norris cleared his throat. He broke eye-contact and instead looked to the north. "Karen," he began. "The magic wielded by those loyal to Drummond is my utmost priority. There is simply nothing more important than finding out what kind of an avalanche the Maverick has unleashed."

The sound of explosions began again.

"I know what has befallen you. I know why you're dug-in and incapable of advancing past the Grand Peaks... barely able to hang onto Maley's Point as is," Norris continued.

"Really, Colonel?" Karen frowned. "So you've spent a few hours listening to several thousand artillery pieces -- mostly ship-borne cannons all taken out of mothball status but mortars and howitzers aplenty -- burning through the entire Imperial stockpile of gunpowder at a rate that would put Palazzo to shame, and now you're an expert in this warfare? That you would understand what it's like to be unable to sleep because of those damn cannons thundering every odd-minute? Do you know what's it's like out there? The field between two armies littered with as many corpses as spent munitions? Do you know what it's like to order thousands to scale an unassailable position because of political concerns, knowing that none will survive but all the same being given a direct-"

"Karen," Norris interrupted. He put a friendly hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry."

Karen slapped Norris' hand aside. "The New Order has managed to rally veterans into its forces, in addition to training additional conscripts. This means that Anson Tilton has managed to sway the commoners to his side."

Terra nodded to herself and Norris grunted a reluctant acknowledgement. Terra had spent much of her time in the last week learning everything she could about the politics of the civil war. Anson Tilton, the pretender to the throne, had been the main topic as she questioned Anthony, Miles and Gossman whenever they were free.

"It's not just that, Norris. The refugee problem seems restricted to only the battle-scared regions of the Core. Despite the bloody approaches to Vector in the first month, not as much damage had been done as we expected. This makes the fight for our homeland just that much more difficult."

"I know all this Karen, it's outlined in my report," Norris responded.

"Fine! Ignore the obvious questions! It's not like blind loyalty has ever gotten us in trouble!" Karen's outburst caught both Terra and Norris off-guard.

"Listen-" Norris began weakly.

"Just explain what the hell you want from me," Karen growled.

Norris sighed. He turned to Terra.

"Miss Alysworth," Terra finally broke her silence. "Norris fears the shroud of magic; it was a crucial part of the ambush which cost us dearly. I agree with his sentiment. It's important -- extremely important -- that we figure out what the Maverick intends and work towards countering his latest magical advance with our own."

"Which is why I want you to give me a direct order," Norris continued. "To research this new threat and come up with countermeasures, you'll send me directly to Tzen."

"What?" Karen exclaimed. "Wait a minute," she raised her hands. "Assuming I believe a word about how dangerous this new magic is, you want me to send you far away from our army so that we're deprived of your magical expertise if this threat materializes? Into the waiting arms of some so-called ally that has betrayed us in the past?"

Norris and Terra exchanged looks of concern.

"All of which still doesn't answer the question as to why I'm issuing this order. This is something General Lilienthal should be made aware of, not to mention the fact that he has thousands upon thousands of magical tomes back in Albrook, a safe and friendly city for you to be in, Norris," Karen folded her arms and glared at the old man in suspicion. "You're lying to me."

"General Meras has long since had an interest in the current happenings of the Magitek Knights, unlike our own General," Norris raised an eyebrow for effect. "Her information would be much more up-to-date on what the labs had been researching prior to the Long Night. In addition... Terra?" Norris nudged the half-Esper.

Terra cleared her throat. "I have already seen much of the Remiel's collection and can compare it to General Meras' library. Hers is more extensive and would likely be a better place to start," she lied.

Karen nodded. "Right. Sure, I'll believe this. What I still don't understand is why-" her dark eyes locked on Norris fiercely, "-you're going to all this trouble to get around General Lilienthal."

"I didn't-"

Karen held up a hand. "Norris, I know you said you dragged me out here for secrecy's sake. I'm sure you have a good speech on how important it is that no one overhears anything about Fanshaw or this Shroud of Magic. But I've known you for a long time. You sent a man like Miles to sneak into my tent, risking death in the process, to deliver a note sealed with spell that we use for our most secret correspondences. That's not normal, to say the least, and I can't see you ordering it unless you had great need... like avoiding the possibility of encountering our General."

Terra frowned. She glanced over at the old Magitek Knight suspiciously. While she had played her part as he requested -- his proposition had been a good one and it was merely a few white lies she was telling -- Karen was right. Norris was being overly cautious for some strange reason.

Norris straightened. "I couldn't take the chance of General Lilienthal ignoring my analysis and ordering me to assist on the front." He gestured north, where the sounds of cannonade had started again. "Do you really think I can make a difference? It's a battle that can't be won just with another mage, but if the General sees me, he'll try to have me to do just that. It's a waste, Karen."

Terra was impressed. Norris was a good liar.

But he was clearly not good enough to fool either of them. "You're full of it, Norris," Karen levelled a finger in his face. "But I don't care enough to pry into all your secrets," she lowered her hand. "This is one hell of a favour, and I will collect your debts one day. You will debrief me when you get back from Tzen, Colonel Ferdinand."

Norris smiled. "Of course, and Karen-"

The female General had half-turned away, clearly intending to leave.

"-be careful."

Karen pressed her lips together in a weak smile. She left without another word.

---

Terra followed Norris through the forest. They had made camp deep into the woods, the path they had taken around the enemy entrenchments had led them further south than strictly necessary. But it had been safer to stray, rather than take the optimal route.

Locke and Sherwood were back at their 'camp', if the small collection of tents could be considered that. The men Norris had sent to escort Karen would bring back more supplies though, enough for their small team to make the trip to Tzen.

The thought of that brought a smile to Terra's face. Seeing Relm again would be a joy. She had worried over Strago's granddaughter for a long time now, though she had been powerless to do anything about it. But finally she was going back, and with Danielle's allies in tow. Not to mention she was sure that Farin wouldn't lift a finger to harm them. In fact, he would probably help.

Surrounded by new-found friends, everything was working out for the better.

Even Locke's spirit had been lifted by this news. The burden of Relm's imprisonment had probably been as heavy on his shoulders as hers, but that was finally ending. He also seemed to be getting over his death and resurrection. Locke and Sherwood had been teamed up since the events at Gwendolen Ford and they almost looked like friends.

Which was good, since Terra hadn't expected Sherwood to speak with anyone! The archer had certainly given her the cold-shoulder, especially since Clarkson was gone. Terra sighed deeply at that memory, wishing that she had been strong enough to save his life as well. She should have fought back earlier and ended the threat before the situation had gotten so desperate. He had been the friendliest of all of Norris' men. His loss had affected everyone...

Her eyes drifted to the grey-haired old man.

"Norris."

The elder Magitek Knight idly scratched at his smooth chin. "What is it Terra?"

"When you made the offer to help you solve this mysterious Shroud, I accepted it without question."

Norris grinned. "Well it was rather in your favour. At the very least, you'll be surrounded by good friends again."

Terra narrowed her eyes. "What do you mean by that?"

"You and General Starson were quite sociable with each other," Norris hinted vaguely. "Being friends with someone as well-connected as him is a mighty benefit."

"Friends," Terra echoed under her breath. "Well that's not a lie," she evasively responded.

"So what's the problem?" Norris asked with bigger smile.

"Karen was right. There's no reason for you to be concerned Remiel might send you uselessly to the front. While there might be some truth in the statement, I'm sure something else is on your mind," Terra reasoned.

Norris sighed. "Karen's rubbing off on you."

Terra folded her arms. "And you're avoiding giving me a real answer. I want the truth, Norris. You're definitely afraid of Remiel for some reason, and you had me lie to bolster your tall tale. So what's going on here?" She glared at the Magitek Knight suspiciously. "If you don't tell me the truth, I'll go back to Karen and tell her everything. I'm sure she'll be really interested when she realizes how deeply you deceived her."

Norris sighed louder. He stopped in the middle of the forest, looking around in paranoia while his face was plastered with reluctance. When he was sure they were alone and no one else was in earshot, he gestured for the grey-haired half-Esper to get close.

"Fine," he growled under his breath. "You want to know why I'm avoiding General Lilienthal?"

Terra nodded briskly.

"Let me tell you now that I would never disobey an order he gives me. I wouldn't even entertain the thought of lying to him. That said, I'm not above leaving out the truth."

"What does this have to do with anything?" Terra asked, still suspicious.

"Before I left Albrook, the General left me orders," Norris's face lost anything resembling kindness. "Certainly you could guess. I was to keep an eye on you, and the moment you became a threat..." he trailed off, a hard look on his face.

Terra was impassive. "Oh," she offered indifferently.

"I don't intend on killing someone who has risked her life to save those that I care about," Norris straightened indignantly. "But General Lilienthal would not feel the same. If I told him what I witnessed at Gwendolen Ford, he'll give an order that I would regret. Then shortly after, you would be dead."

Terra raised an eyebrow. "Really," she answered.

"Perhaps not immediately," Norris said, clearly upset by her self-confidence. "But there are tens of thousands in the army. Eventually they'll wear you down."

"Well then," Terra began to head back towards camp. She had wanted to talk to Remiel and see the look on his face after digesting all that she had done for Norris and his men. But it mattered less and less. "I guess you did this for my sake."

Norris followed her, one pace behind but unable to catch up due to her briskness. "Farin Starson is your friend," he repeated. "The Brigadier can easily keep you safe behind an army similar in size to the one my general commands... and once you're back in Tzen, not even House Lilienthal can touch you. Remiel wouldn't dare upset General Meras, the alliance we have is too tenuous to risk over such a matter. The treaty we signed thanks to your diplomatic mission is far more important than any single person's life."

He seemed smaller, Terra thought, and more sympathetic. Normally, his gaze was filled with strength and experience. However, he looked pained.

"I guess you probably believe people like General Lilienthal are cold-hearted, that they'll ignore the suffering of millions to further their own cause. But nothing is ever so simple. Remiel does what he does because he desires a secure, peaceful future. Power begets responsibility... more power only leads to more responsibility; House Lilienthal has long since been a foundation of the Empire and if were it to weaken..."

Norris took a deep breath, exasperated. "Remiel is not much different from you and me. He is fallible, he delegates authority because he does not know everything, but that doesn't mean there won't be bad decisions. I will not stand aside idly and allow my General to issue an order that -- not only causes me personal grief -- but could destroy our chances of ending this war."

Terra wet her lips. What did Norris mean, that her death could cause the war to spiral out of control? Certainly he didn't believe that she meant so much to Danielle or Farin!

"And without cooperation amongst our leaders, the Empire will continue to descend into chaos. Without strong, decisive leadership, Fanshaw will not be the last city to be slaughtered."

The wizened old Magitek Knight's eyes were downcast, sadness on his face. After weeks of travelling with Norris Ferdinand, Terra finally saw the man beneath the comical facade. He was just a tired old soldier fighting against everyone, even his own people if necessary, in order to secure peace in the world.

She respected that.

"The Civil War has to end. We must all make sacrifices... too many have been lost already," Norris whispered.

Terra nodded. She brushed back a thick lock of grey hair, standing tall in her white-wolf mantle. "Don't worry Norris, we will end the war. It doesn't matter how big Anson Tilton's armies are, or what kind of arcane magic Maverick Drummond has at his command. We'll save everyone's lives."

Norris stared back, stunned silent for a moment, and then burst out laughing. He patted her on the back and pulled her into a half-hug. "That's the spirit!"

---

Upon the bridge of the Tiernay, Edgar brooded with his hands clasped behind his back. As expected, the Admiral of the fleet had agreed with the Captain of the Tiernay. They were now sailing full-speed towards the coast, with the Figarian ships of the line hurrying to cut them off.

The Imperials had given the impression they were trying to sail ahead, forcing the Figarian elements to either engage disadvantageously with their bow, or to swing around and run the Empire against the coast. While it had been clear to Edgar that they had nothing to gain by attacking from the inside, his former countrymen clearly did not believe the same. Stories of the ruthless invaders had been spread far and wide and instead of accepting either possibility, the Figarian Captains pushed their ships to the limit to ensure none would ever shell their coastal cities ever again.

As expected, the Tiernay and Diodorus could not keep pace and now Edgar could see the broadsides of Figarian vessels. The rest of the Imperial fleet was lagging even further behind but neither battleship could delay. They were already outnumbered; a hopeless battle were not for the elemental cannons.

Flares could be seen from the closest ships, accompanied by the roar of detonating gunpowder. The sea exploded as cannonballs bashed into her, a spray of muted-grey seawater marking each projectile.

But those were no warning shots.

The hull of the Tiernay ruptured in a dozen places, smoke obscuring all vision as a shower of deadly wooden splinters shredded unlucky sailors. The bridge of the Tiernay was beyond the bulk of the devastation, but this was little comfort to Edgar as one of the top masts toppled and crushed several sailors just in front of him.

"This is insanity!" Edgar shouted over the roar of cannon fire. The entire vessel groaned and the bow was covered with smoke. Men screamed in pain as they fell over, great chunks of wood embedded through their limbs and chest, while their friends manned the cannons.

"All hands return fire!"

If the battleship was shaking before, now it was tearing itself apart. Fifty cannons from three decks fired nigh-simultaneously, rocking the entire vessel even as Figarian ammunition tore into her sides. Sailors manning the cannons died almost whimsically, two gun-crews were totally unharmed though some thirty men around them had splattered to the floor in many pieces. More men ran to fill the place of the dead, seemingly unconcerned that they were next to die.

"Lieutenant, get those sails unfurled! I want every bit of speed that can be coaxed out of her! Helmsman, stay the course! We're only seconds from range!"

Cannon fire detonated within the masts, tearing a hole through the mainsail and sending a number of men tumbling. Several fell into the churning waters around the mighty ship of the line, while the unlucky ones slammed onto the deck below and never moved again.

"So this is naval warfare?" Strago growled from a crouch beside Edgar. "I dare say this is nastier business than airship to airship combat!"

A shower of splinters punctuated that statement, the hand railings protecting the bridge exploding as a cannonball smashed through.

"At least on an airship, the enemy's weapons don't turn the very vessel itself into fragmentation munitions!" Strago shouted over the roar as his hands waved wildly. Sparkles of light danced from his hands.

Edgar pulled himself onto the wildly swaying railings, a splash of salty mist stinging his eye as yet more cannon fire passed overhead.

"Captain! The Diodorus, she's trailing!"

The Captain of the Tiernay brought a bronze canister to his eye, simultaneously pulling it into the form of a scope. Edgar balanced himself and joined the officer on the quarterdeck.

"Damn!" the Imperial swore. He collapsed the telescope angrily. "She's crippled!"

Of the four double-decker ships of the line that the Figarian Navy sent, two were pounding away at the dying Imperial vessel. Masts toppled and smoke enveloped the mighty warship, hundreds of guns firing every five seconds with a thundering roar.

"Lieutenant! Get that elemental in place! We'll have to save the Admiral."

A quick salute and one of the many dark coated men ran towards the stern of the vessel, braving the storm of gunfire as he weaved and ducked. Edgar almost fell over as the ship lurched sickeningly, cannon fire smashing into the hull just as the huge vessel broke over the crest of a wave. "We're all going to die!" he declared.

"Get out of my way! Marines!" the Captain pushed Edgar aside, but no soldiers came to restrain the estranged king. The deck was littered with bodies and the only noise heard over the continual roar of gunpowder blasts were the pained screams of the dying. What order remained on the deck were of those brave souls that crewed the cannons, still numerous despite the heavy loss of life.

Edgar dashed down the stairs and onto the main deck, shoving his way to the stern. He could not allow that elemental cannon to fire; those were still his people! He had responsibilities, and above all else he had a Kingdom that he had sworn to defend.

The most deadly weapon in the Imperial arsenal was at the front of the vessel, the Lieutenant directing a number of men assigned to a network of pulleys. It was a dangerous task as huge pieces of machinery swung from side to side, dangling from half-torn rigging, all amidst cannon fire as blast after blast of deadly ammunition smashed into the hull and rigging. Smoke and dust was making it hard to breath and the decks were slick with blood and seawater.

Another explosion, this time near the stern. The sudden shockwave knocked Edgar flat on his back. His ears were ringing in pain and his head spun. With effort, he forced himself to stand and nearly toppled as the ship lurched again.

The pulley system had been destroyed, rigging crippled and several men crushed beneath the cannon apparatus. Edgar tried to focus, gritting his teeth as dizziness threatened to take him once more.

The roar of thirty cannons, a full Figarian broadside, fired into the Tiernay. Most flew overhead or landed in the turbulent sea, but several struck the hull. Edgar screamed as he fell down, his head cushioned by the backside of a sailor. The estranged King of Figaro's eyes watered when he saw the splinter, nearly the size of his forearm, sticking out of leg.

"Dammit!" Edgar twisted his head and tried to get off the Imperial man he had fallen on. He barely suppressed a groan when he realized the body was missing its head.

Edgar knew he couldn't stand, not with that giant spear stuck deep within his thigh. He didn't even know how long it would take to heal, but knowing he had no choice made things easier. Both hands gripped around the wooden shaft tightly and with a roar of pain, Edgar attempted to pull the splinter out of his body. Blood squirted around his broken skin, but the thing was too deep and every motion only tore into his flesh more so. Tears ran down his cheeks as he pulled again.

"Curse you boy!"

Edgar glanced up to see Strago, his form flailing as the ship lurched under the strength of another broadside. Their surrounded battleship was firing back with gusto, both the port and starboard sides were obscured with dark smoke from the gundecks below. Yet the old man somehow managed to hop over the slick trails of blood and land beside Edgar.

"Let me fix you up instead of crippling yourself ever more!" Strago's hands sparkled with blue light.

"No need..." Edgar groaned, barely capable of smiling considering all the pain he was in, "... to use magic for everything."

A grin, even in this situation. "Shut your mouth lad and let me handle this."

Edgar's vision swam with white shapes. "Strago, you must get a new coat after this. It's so bloody..."

"I said quiet! Let me work here."

Edgar chuckled and cried out again as pain tore up his spine. He inadvertently twitched and bit down on his tongue, leading to further cursing at the torment.

The roar of cannon fire seemed to grow stronger. Rhythmic blasts reverberated through the massive vessel at least twice every breath, Edgar counted. His mind was clearing up though, even as the blue sparkles started to run up and down the length of his sprawled out body. "Damn, where's that Lieutenant? He's going to kill my people," Edgar growled. His neck twisted around trying to find the stern of the ship.

Even disorientated and slightly delusional, Edgar kept enough control over his mental facilities to find the front of the Tiernay. It was there that cadavers were being cleared away. The Captain's back faced him, his dark coat and red trim a beacon amongst the rabble as the officer shouted orders. The Lieutenant was staring at Edgar though, lifeless eyes conveying the horror of being crushed by the barrel of an elemental cannon.

"Mister Jenkins! Hard astern!" the Captain shouted over the noise of cannons firing every moment. "Boatswain, let's show them the power of the Imperial Navy!"

"Glory to the Empire, sir!"

Edgar could barely stand on his own, but that didn't stop him from trying. Strago let loose a string of curses as the younger of the pair put his weight upon the old man's shoulders. "Captain, don't you-!"

Too late. The entire front of the Tiernay suddenly lit with deadly red light as a column of fire, easily the size of a man, shot forth from the barrel. Edgar's eyes were blinded by a crimson haze and he adjusted to the illumination, for certainly the cannon did not stop firing! A massive beam lanced over the water, eminence reflected beneath, and tore into the closest Figarian vessel.

Fire was a deadly thing, one of the principle enemies aboard any ship. Even if it had not been an Imperial Magitek cannon, properly wielded to that of a land-based Armor and capable of tearing through all known substances, the inferno alone would have engulfed the Figarian battleship. Yet as her hull caught aflame, a blaze that hungrily devoured the wooden hull and fragile sails above, the blast itself tore through the ship's keel. Eight hundred sailors screamed in unison as the first-rate collapsed inward, feeding the fury of the fires as the turbulent sea claimed its prize.

The Tiernay swung about and with it, the lance of flaming devastation that had destroyed one of Figaro's greatest vessels. It caught another in its path, this time setting ablaze the sails first. Masts swung over and fell, killing the hundreds that swarmed over the decks trying to load cannonballs to sink their deadly enemy. Then the sea lifted the Figarian battleship and elemental plasma burned through the wooden hull.

Edgar's face was as red as the beam. "You murdering bastards! Damn you Imperials!" he screamed as he was pulled away from the railing, away from the sight of his people dying.

The cannon stopped firing, its barrel red hot and glowing like the inside of a furnace. The Captain of the Tiernay smiled slyly -- readjusting his triangular hat in the process -- as the boatswain beside him lifted his fist in the air. "For the Empire!"

"Glory to the Empire!" echoed those sailors alive on deck.

Edgar hopped on one foot, balanced precariously against the railings as he tried not to bump into the corpses that littered the Tiernay's deck. He couldn't let this go any further. So many lives had been lost already.

"Edgar! You are trying my patience. I can't mend a broken bone in addition to your torn muscular structure," Strago grabbed Edgar by the shoulder.

"You don't understand! This is my fault, Strago!" he shouted with wild eyes. "I killed those people out there, they're dying because-"

"Calm down!" Strago shouted back. "You can do nothing until I mend your leg, and then you can go out there and try to stop the Imperials from saving our lives; maybe they won't toss you overboard if you're capable of swimming!"

Edgar cried out as bright blue lines lanced from Strago's fingertips and swirled around his broken leg, cutting off his immediate retort. He was fully-aware what the Imperial Captain was trying to do, but the situation was caused by their arrogance. They should have retreated as he had originally planned, outrunning the Figarian coastal patrol and finding berth much further north.

Now they were fully embroiled in a battle to the death.

The Tiernay shuddered again as enemy cannon fire blasted into her hull, but this time there was something different in the way she lurched. Both Strago and Edgar knew something had changed, but Strago remained silent and dutifully saw to the mending of Edgar's leg.

The battleship tipped over again, this time dangerously low to the waves. Both men got a good face-full of the salty ocean. Strago said nothing, but Edgar knew something was terribly amiss.

"Where is she?"

"I don't see her! She's hitting us below the waterline!"

"We're taking water on all gundecks!"

"Silence!" the thundering voice of the Captain. "Boatswain, ensure that the powder is not ruined! Helmsman, back astern! Mister Magus!" the Imperial officer dashed over to the two Returners. Dried blood matted the skin around his left eye, but otherwise he seemed unharmed.

"I'm busy trying to heal this man," Strago growled at their impatience and the constant interruptions.

"We're being attacked Mister Magus, and there's nothing on the horizon! I need to know if it's some dark magic out there."

Strago frowned. He looked around their vessel skeptically. "We're surrounded by smoke from the cannons! Of course you can't see anything out there, even if it is a clear day!"

The Captain's lips twisted in a sneer. "Damn your impudence! I am no inexperienced swine! They're crippling us and we can't fire back at what we can't see. Is that magic out there or not?"

The Tiernay was still sailing with nearly all her sails unfurled, so she quickly broke out of the cloud of dense fog and smoke that had surrounded the vessel during combat. Underneath the clear sky, it was easily seen that no one was firing on them. The remaining Figarian battleships were behind them -- the Tiernay had broken through the line and had attained the coast -- and they were firing upon the Diodorus. Further out to sea, the rest of the Imperial fleet was exchanging fire with the curtain of Figarian ships, now closing their trap and crushing the invader with their superior numbers.

Yet as their ship lurched again and the sound of rushing water could be heard below decks, Strago reluctantly stopped healing Edgar's wound and stretched out his mind. He searched for something -- anything! -- that could have been magically masking their attackers.

Edgar, on the other hand, pulled himself up. "Below the waterline, you say?" he echoed.

"Aye, and the men are growing restless. I need results now, Mister Magus!"

Strago opened his eyes. "There's nothing magical out there-" he growled, "-save the aura about those crippled hulks you carved in half with that infernal weapon."

"That's impossible," the Captain turned around. "Helmsman, I said hard astern!" he shouted. "Mister Jenkins, get that topsail back up before we topple over!"

"She's sluggish sir!" came the Helmsman's reply. "Too low to the water!"

Edgar swallowed back the lump in his throat. "Could be it be reefs?"

"Don't take us for fools," the Captain snapped. "Our seamanship is far better than that!"

"Sir, all decks are flooding!" the boatswain's head popped up from below. "I don't think we can contain the damage!"

The Captain scowled. "Get it contained or you'll be swimming home! Mister Jenkins, forget the sails and get those holes fixed now! Take all the men you need!"

"Aye sir!"

Edgar watched as the Imperial sailors hastily began repairs with anything they had on hand, including the spare sails. The Tiernay lurched again though and with a shudder, Edgar came to an epiphany.

It was impossible. It should have been impossible!

"Dammit! What the hell is that!" even the Captain had lost it now, frustration clear on his face. He screamed more orders and almost tore men away from the cannons to repair to their vessel, they could not go into battle in such a condition. Then he turned and saw the look on Edgar's face. "Figaro! You know what's going on!" he crossed the distance and grabbed Edgar by the throat. "I can see it on your face!" he accused.

"Let go of him," Strago pulled the Captain away from Edgar with surprising, almost-inhuman strength. "This is not the time to finger the blame on anyone, least of all-"

"Strago, I know what it is," Edgar interrupted in a half-whisper. His eyes were wide in surprise, shivers still travelling down his spine as he realized what this meant.

"What is it? You conniving little snot," the Captain growled. His hand was close to his sword now.

"Sir! Vessels from the coast are gaining on us!"

The Captain did not pay attention to the Helmsman though, keeping his deadly scowl set on Edgar. "Explain yourself before I have you executed, you deceiving swine!"

Edgar glared back at the Captain, despite the obvious pain from standing on a broken leg. "The ships are underwater," he growled.

Strago's mouth dropped, and the Captain of the Tiernay was not much better at hiding his surprise. "What?" was his pathetic response.

"Those vessels are attacking from beneath!" Edgar pointed below them.

"I've had enough of your insults!" the Captain's face was a mask of fury. "That's impossible and everyone knows it!"

"How is it possible?" Strago asked in a whisper. He knew Edgar wouldn't lie. "There's no magic involved or I would've sensed it!"

"They must've solved the issue with repressurizing under-"

"Marines!" the Captain shouted. This time, armed men appeared with swords readied. "If there is no duplicity here, why did you not brief us of this threat, Figaro?"

Edgar scowled. "There was no threat! At least, not when I was still back home," he added. "If you didn't realize, I've been away from my kingdom for a long time, otherwise this journey would have been unnecessary! The Submergence Project has been active for over a decade, a feat of reverse-engineering that became more and more complicated with each passing year. The more we learned of the ancient devices within my castle, the more we realized how truly impossible it would be to match the level of technology in the relics from the ancient war."

"Enough of your lies! Marines, prepare to execute him," the Captain growled.

"There were no ships capable of diving underwater!" Edgar screamed in frustration. "It should have been impossible! How was I supposed to know that during my absence, the project would advance from a physical impossibility to functional prototypes usable in combat! It's a miracle by any standard of engineering, and if you had half the brain of those who designed your damned elemental cannons, then you would understand I'm telling the truth!"

Perhaps the Imperial Captain did believe him and that the barred steel would be retracted, but such matters became bunk with the sudden roar of cannon fire. Forgotten by ranking officers in the midst of heated debate and ignored by the common sailor, Figarian vessels opened fire with over fifty guns. The two frigates sailing from the coast were tiny little things in comparison, certainly they would not have stood a chance against the Imperial battleship in any other situation. However, the Tiernay was already teetering on the verge of collapse -- the damage to its keel was almost irreparable even docked -- and its officers had been embroiled in conflict.

An explosion of smoke and splinters caught the arguing men. Edgar instinctively pulled Strago to the ground as cannonballs sailed over their head and crippled the mighty ship. The hull began to fracture and seams along the deck burst open. Both the foremast and the mainmast toppled and from above, sails came crashing down.

Edgar's eyes snapped closed, awaiting the gruesome death of being crushed beneath thousands of pounds of mast, rigging and sails. When the end did not come though, he opened his eyes.

Strago's hands were pointed into the sky, barely holding back a beam that nearly fell upon them. The great pillar had already buckled, snapping under pressure and crashing onto the deck with a quaking rumble. Amidst the dust and debris, Edgar noted apprehensively that Strago was barely capable of defending himself. He scrunched closer to the lore-master as the mighty mage groaned and willed the huge wooden columns aside, singly accomplishing with magic an action that would have taken twenty men.

The roar of cannon fire continued unabated and the screams of the dying below deck were accompanied by the steady splash of the rising waterline. The great Imperial battleship was dying.

"We have to get out of here, Edgar!" Strago growled. He stood dizzily, beads of sweat running down his face.

"Strago, you're-"

"Yes! I am weary from saving both our lives," Strago cast a quick look at the Imperial officers crushed by the falling masts. "And if we stay any longer, then my efforts are futile!"

"I'm injured and you look like you need a day of rest, not to mention we're still far from the coast!"

"Better than staying here lad, on a sinking ship to be picked up as Imperials!"

Edgar gritted his teeth. Strago was right, as usual.

He was helped to his feet by the old man. In the distance, fire could be seen devouring both the Diodorus and one of the Figarian ships. Their broadsides were almost touching, planks bridging the gap as men stormed across with blades drawn. Even further out, the Imperial fleet was scattering. Wreckage was everywhere, and what few ships remained retreated as best they could despite the curtain of Figarian frigates.

"If we get out of this one alive, it'll make for quite the tale, wouldn't you say so Strago?" Edgar gasped as the two men grabbed at anything that seemed buoyant on the deck. Water was now clearly visible in the decks below as they searched for what supplies they could. Imperial sailors were already jumping ship at this point, others loaded a boat with supplies in hopes of escaping.

Strago grinned. "I look forward to telling Relm how her grandfather escaped the fury of two hundred guns and dozens of frigates!"

The two men dove into the water.

---

Cyan stormed into the Imperial camp, hiding the dark mood that he was in. The days since his battle abreast Imperial soldiers had been spent in introspection and deliberation, debating on the proper, honourable course of action. He had avoided seeing Relm during that time. While he wanted to be with Strago's granddaughter, he knew that isolating himself from her wardens was necessary.

The Imperial supply camp was bustling with activity. The Third Battle of Reddenhurst had been won, after all, and the victors were celebrating. Cyan strolled through the newly-repaired gates, putting on a forced smile as he held up his silver medallion.

"Sir Cyan! You have no need to show that here!" an aged, scarred one-armed soldier strolled through a curtain of guards. The four silver bars of a Colonel could be seen upon his chest.

Calling out Cyan's name had the opposite effect than it might have just a week ago. Soldiers all around hollered and cheered his name, several braving the scowl of their Colonel to thank the Knight personally. Cyan was uncomfortable, he had not wanted to draw attention and yet here he was...

"This way," the Colonel gestured as they finally made it out of the crowd.

"There's no need to escort me," Cyan remarked.

"Yes, well you're a wanted man," the Colonel answered. "General Starson was here only a day ago. He left this with me, a token of his gratitude."

It was a small, finely made wooden box with the Imperial Emblem etched into a circular metal plate at the top. The Colonel opened it and the faint scent of cinnamon wafted through the winter air. Within was a five-pointed silver star housed in dark felt, a ribbon of black and red neatly folded behind. "This medal is for you, though normally they're given with a bit more ceremony."

Cyan swallowed. "Thank you," he found himself saying, taking the box and snapping it closed.

"That's not all. The 29th Company wanted me to convey their thanks. Those supplies were theirs and you'll keep them going for quite a bit longer now. They wanted me to extend a share of their prize to you, and that means there's a barrel of rum with your name on it. It's the good stuff from Albrook too."

Cyan did not want that. He had fought to save the lives of the inexperienced children, not for Magitek pilots and their blood-won alcohol.

The Colonel smiled. "I knew of your reputation before General Starson escorted you here, but I had no idea what a great man you are. Now I can tell my children that I presented Sir Cyan his medal instead of the Major-General. It is quite an honour." He saluted with his only arm, but it was a strong gesture and Cyan respectfully returned with a salute of his own. With that, the Colonel left Cyan alone.

Cyan slipped the box into his pack and continued to walk the familiar path. The rookies here were still bustling with good cheer and Cyan could hear everything they said.

"-how General Starson charged alone to save-"

"-spect for General Layton, may his soul rest-"

"-ost blasted us to pieces if it wasn't for Brigadier Falkland and-"

"-those treacherous scum! I only wish I could have seen Rendar's face before the General crushed-"

"-ldgrave escorted the Crimson Armor to the top of the Gaston Cliffs!"

Cyan stopped. He turned towards the man that had last spoken. The soldier was huddled with three of his friends, each carrying crates in the direction of the mountain tunnels. "My dearest apologizes, but what didst thou say?"

The kid's mouth dropped open, "Sir Cyan!" he cried as his friends went wide-eyed. "Guys, it's the Knight of Doma!"

"The Relentless?" one asked, though he was immediately punched by his friends.

Cyan ignored the sycophantic praise that they began to shower him with. "Please, I was curious as to what occurred upon the Gaston Cliffs."

One of the kids, his face full of freckles, beamed. "General Meras, sir!"

"Yeah," the eldest-looking of the four added. "I was with the 223rd that night, positioned on the west wing. We were getting hammered for most of the time; beams of fire blazed down from the heavens and turned the gap into a raging inferno. Then just before dawn, we saw a fight break out up on the cliffs... let me tell you, no one expected that. The Gaston Cliffs are unassailable along the northern and eastern faces, so getting up there would have required going through the bulk of the New Order's army. But by the time the sun rose, the Armors up top were firing on the enemy!"

"I heard they came through Anthony's Pass!" another cried.

"Don't be stupid! You can't get frontliners through that mountain passage, even wagons are hard-pressed to make the journey!" the eldest retorted.

"Well that's what I heard! Four dozen frontliners through the mountains to strike those bastards from the rear."

"There has to be some truth in the rumour; did you hear that Captain Waldgrave was amongst the General's handpicked pilots? I mean, no surprise there. His piloting was incredible in the forest. But still!"

Waldgrave. Cyan's eyes went wide. That was what they were talking about originally, and that's what had truly caught his attention. "Didst thou mention Waldgrave?"

"Captain Godric Waldgrave," the freckled kid repeated. "He was Major Cassidy's second when we went up to the Tzen Mountains a couple months ago."

"That's Brigadier Cassidy now," the eldest corrected. "Maybe Major-General with a victory like this! Can you believe I used to run errands for him? I knew he was a strategic genius even then!" he declared proudly.

Cyan backed up a step. So it seemed that Godric was here. Did he give up chasing Sabin? Or...

"Anyhow, sir! General Meras and several dozen of the best frontliners in the army crushed those bastards on the cliffs. They came in from the rear and then turned on the New Order's forces with everything they had. You should have seen how quickly those cowards turned tail once our General was here!" the freckled kid declared full of enthusiasm.

The four soldiers shared a laugh. "Did you see how none of the beams touched her? The Crimson Armor of our lady General is unstoppable!"

"To Vector we go!"

"Glory to the Empire!"

Cyan mumbled his thanks and quickly strolled past. He tried to remember what Siana had told them of Godric Waldgrave. He remembered talk about the Captain being stubborn and easy to mislead; that had been the reasoning behind Sabin's journey to the west. If Godric was here though, did that mean he had given up? Certainly there was no chance that Sabin had been captured... or worse. No! It was impossible!

So concerned was he over his close friend's situation that Cyan nearly walked into the cottage door. He looked around in surprise, he had arrived so quickly! And even stranger, he thought as he opened the door, only Irving was in the room... and asleep?

"Cyan!" Relm cried. "Where have you been!" she exclaimed in a voice half-ecstatic and half-irritated.

Cyan put a finger to his lips, and the two embraced each other. "Quiet, dear one," he whispered with an eye on the unmoving soldier. "We're leaving," he said gravely.

Relm grinned. She nodded quietly.

"Is there anything you need here?" Cyan whispered as he put her down carefully.

Relm shook her head, her shoulder-length blond hair bouncing from side-to-side.

The two walked out of the cottage and into the snow. Cyan breathed a sigh of relief as they strolled along the old path. He could not believe his luck, that one warden was gone and the other asleep. All those days spent in deliberation convincing himself to break a promise sworn on Elayne and Owain, yet whimsical fate had made all that irrelevant. He pulled at Relm's hand and quickened his pace.

Strago's granddaughter had been looking around the cottage with a frown. "You didn't have to kill anyone, did you?" a look of worry was on her face.

"No," Cyan answered. He was touched by her concern.

She brightened immediately. "So, where are we going?" Relm asked, her excitement was almost palpable. "Grandpa and Edgar have both sailed away, haven't they?"

Cyan nodded. "That they have."

"And what about Terra and Locke?"

"I do not know," Cyan said with a sigh. "But we are not going to search for them in the midst of war."

"So where are we going then?"

"Indeed, where are you going to go?"

Cyan spun around, the sword at his hip growing heavier as he turned to face the innocent, boyish face of Paisley. The Lieutenant was looking at them curiously, his short brown hair peeking out underneath a snow-covered helmet. A grey cloak was wrapped around the soldier, twin short swords peeking out beneath the material.

"Paisy!" Relm cried out in surprise.

The Lieutenant raised an eyebrow. "Hullo there Relm!" he said with a grin.

"Paisley," Cyan said slowly. The smile on Cyan's face had vanished when he saw the Imperial. He let go of Relm's hand, took a deep breath and glared at her true jailor.

"Nice to see you again Cyan, I was wondering where you went after Third Reddenhurst. Did you know that even General Starson stopped by to see you? A Major-General now, probably busy leading campaigns to free this area from the grasp of the New Order, and he came in person to thank you for your actions!" Paisley didn't look at all concerned that Relm was outside and Irving nowhere in sight.

But he was moving closer, and Cyan tensed for the expected bloodshed. His hand floated a whisper above the hilt of his sword. Step after step, crunch after crunch in the snow. It had been what Cyan had feared for so long, but there was no going back now.

He would break his word. There was no choice.

And as Paisley's arm moved, Cyan went for his sword... only to find Relm's hand on top of his.

Cyan's breath caught in his throat and time seemed to stand still as his eyes shot towards the child that meant so much. Relm frowned at him, disappointment clear on her face as she shook her head.

The moment passed. Surprise faded away in an instant and Cyan replaced it with an emotionless mask.

"I didn't thank you for saving my life," Paisley looked embarrassed. "Sure everyone cheered for you a bunch of times, but it's just not the same."

Cyan looked down at the outstretched hand, stunned speechless. He took it reluctantly with his left, so that his right would still be free and ready.

The two men shook. "Thank you, Cyan. You don't know what that means to me," Paisley backed up slightly with a faint smile across his face. "Anyhow, you didn't answer my question. Where are you going? And more importantly, do you need a chocobo?"

Cyan blinked. "Excuse me?"

"If you're going far, you'll want a mount," Paisley gestured east. "The stables are in that direction, I don't think you were given a tour of the base, otherwise you would already be headed that way. I'd accompany and guide you there -- after all, General Starson gave me specific orders to make your trip as pleasant as possible -- but I have a meeting that I'm probably late for... and I guess Irving was rude enough to abandon you."

"Yes..." Cyan answered slowly, still surprised at all that was being revealed to him. "I suppose I will need a chocobo."

"You can get travel supplies over there as well, just tell them I sent you if they don't recognize you by face. I'll be honest, pretty much everyone here knows your name and what you look like, but we're getting some transfers from the main force so they might not be up to speed. And Cyan," Paisley pointed at the Knight's feet. "You'll probably want new boots too, those look pretty worn and we're only halfway through the winter. Ask the guys packing your mount, they'll be glad to show you the way."

Cyan continued to stare blankly.

"Have a safe trip, Relm, Sir Cyan," Paisley saluted, his fist bouncing off his chest as he did so, and walked away.

---

They rode along the main roads, long since secured by Danielle Meras' victorious forces. Cyan was deep in his thoughts, though the comforting warmth of Relm against his back reminded him to ride at a slower pace.

Paisley had been right. The entire Imperial base had gone out of their way to do his will. He had new boots now, as well as a strong chocobo to bear him back to the north. Supplies were plentiful and they were of high quality too, nothing like the horrid canned foods they had eaten when trekking through the Tzen Mountains. Both he and Relm had been given new cloaks, of a thicker variety and plenty warmer. Near the end of all the gift-giving, he had to decline the option of an escort, as ludicrous as the idea was!

Cyan could understand that he had saved quite a few rookies with his actions, but he didn't understand how the entire base could be thanking him for winning a small skirmish. Surely there were other heroes that day!

"You were going to kill Paisy, weren't you?" Relm gripped him tightly from behind, her head resting against his back.

Cyan frowned. He had no defensible answer.

Her tone was soft though, nothing resembling an accusation. "He's been nothing but nice to me, but I think I understand."

They rode in silence for a moment longer. Cyan closed his eyes in frustration, shamed at what he put her through. She had seen things no child should have seen. The world was becoming a horrible place...

Cyan turned around. He had heard the rapid thumping of approaching chocobos and in the distance, he saw three birds dashing towards him. Yellow against a field of powdered snow, they were catching up at an impressive rate.

"The New Order?" Relm whispered.

"I'm not sure," Cyan's hand hovered over his sword while he waited for the riders. His heart raced despite being told that the area was secured; it would not be the first time the Imperials were wrong. He felt something poking into his back; Relm was pulling out a dagger. "Put that away!" he whispered quickly.

She frowned, her lip quivering as she looked ready to criticize him.

"Ready a spell instead," Cyan had no time to explain how her easily noticeable blade might be their downfall.

The riders took only a more few seconds before they galloped to a halt. A spray of snow accompanied their quick stop, settling down quickly to reveal a familiar flat haircut. Two stars were proudly displayed beside the red and black Imperial Emblem, immense plate armor protecting an equally large warrior. Cyan breathed a sigh of relief.

"Hi Farin!" Relm waved.

"Hello again, Relm," the soldier smiled at her before turning his attention to the Knight of Doma. "Cyan Garamonde," Farin nodded respectfully.

"Farin Starson," Cyan greeted the General. The two men beside him looked familiar; Cyan probably rode with them from the capital of Tzen but didn't know their names.

"I heard you had just left for the north, so I rode as quickly as I could."

"I received the medal," Cyan said gruffly. "A superfluous gesture, I must say, though I did not decline it."

Farin smiled. "That was not my idea and certainly it wasn't Danielle's. The newly-promoted General Cassidy took the initiative. I told him you wouldn't care for it, but he disagreed. I'm glad to see that I was right about you."

"What is this about Farin? Obviously you didn't ride so hard to chat about your peers," he glared at the Imperial officer.

"I'm sure the entire base has lavished their praise on you, so I won't bother showering you with thanks for your actions. I was pleasantly surprised by what you did, not just cutting off the head of the attack force but destroying their coherency with impressive Magitek piloting, I didn't realize you could drive one of those machines," Farin started.

Cyan's eyes widened. So it had been that.

"I think Danielle was wrong," Farin continued. "You're an honourable man, killing off the treacherous scum who went the distance to murder young and defenceless rookies. I admire what you did. You put your life at risk for people that weren't even countrymen... but I'm sure you don't care what I think."

"The gesture is appreciated," Cyan offered diplomatically. "I heard you did much of the same."

Farin's grin grew. "I suppose after a while, repeated valour is expected rather than praised. However, this is growing longsome. There are traitors to hunt down and people to save from the New Order."

Cyan nodded, he understood Farin's purpose. His hand reached into his cloak and with a quick flick of the wrist, a silver medallion flew through the air.

Farin caught it with one hand. "That's not what I'm here for," he said. He tossed it back. "And you should keep it. Think of it as a gift from me and if you must, as a necessity to travel through our lands."

Cyan pocketed the medallion once more.

"I came here for one purpose, and that's to keep a promise," Farin led his chocobo around to Cyan's backside, smiling at Relm in the process.

"And what is that, Farin?"

"I promised Terra that I would keep Relm safe," Farin sternly said. "I almost failed when the New Order broke through our armies and I swear that won't happen again. You'll be safe as long as you stay in this province, so I pass on a share of responsibility to you, Cyan Garamonde."

Cyan looked down at Relm, his heart warming when she looked back at him. "I would never let anything happen to her."

Farin nodded. He spurred his chocobo back the way he came. "Good, knowing that you're guarding her makes keeping my promise just that much easier."

The Major-General and his two escorts galloped away, a spray of snow marking their passage back towards the war zone known as the Imperial Core. As they left, Cyan thought about Farin Starson. He thought about the promise the Imperial General had made, to Terra no less... this day was full of surprises.

But enough about the Empire. "Relm, where did you obtain that weapon?" Cyan asked with a frown.

"Paisy let me keep it. He thought I could use the protection," Relm replied.

Cyan frowned. "You don't even know how to use it," he pointed out. "You could hurt yourself."

Relm frowned back. "I know how to use it," she grumbled as she pulled the dagger closer.

Cyan was about to point out what he had seen of her aptitude when suddenly, he felt a clear sense of purpose. He was saddened though, because it was depressing to know the world had become so dark. Yet it was the proper thing to do, he knew it deep in his heart. Tradition be damned, this was about protecting life.

"So where are we going? You still haven't answered me," Relm pointed out. "We could have asked Farin to bring us to Terra and Locke, but you didn't even bother."

Cyan nodded. "We're going somewhere safer than that, dear one."

"And where's that?"

Cyan smiled. "North. Away from the war."

"That doesn't answer anything!"

With a chuckle, the Knight of Doma spurred his chocobo into action. Cyan Garamonde and Relm Arrowny rode away from the Core of the Empire, their backs protected by the armies of General Danielle Meras, and into the safety offered by the Province of Tzen. It was the safest option; their friends might have still been in danger, but they could be trusted to take care of themselves.

---

Time was meaningless really. Day or night did not matter when one had been underground as long as she had. It was all just a fading memory now: the feeling of the warm sunlight beating against her face, the refreshing ocean breeze with just the slightest hint of salt, and the salivating smell of roasted Vais Gumes.

But she still hung onto those dreamlike images. It had been real, no matter what they said. She would not forget! In the damp, tiny little hole that she had been placed in, memories like that were all that kept her going.

Her head lolled to the side.

Light had flooded into the room, illuminating a space that neither tall enough to stand upright nor wide enough to lie down. One was eternally cramped against a roughly hewn wall that was moist with some sort of disgustingly sticky, putrid green growth. But the sudden burst of white light blinded her and she scrunched even closer against the sides of her revolting prison.

Pupils slowly contracted, a tall bulky shape was framed in light.

Again. They came for her again, as they always did. Nothing she said or did had ever found her reprieve from the horrors. She knew better than to stay pressed against the walls.

The shape collapsed to the ground. Another -- taller, bulkier, more imposing -- took its place.

"Siana?"

She felt a surge of strength at the sound of that word. It seemed familiar for some reason. In the haze that was her mind, she tried to recall why that combination of sounds would trigger such a feeling. It had been so long since she had heard it though, and as she tried to grasp the implications, it slipped away like a leaf in the breeze.

"For the love of all that's holy, Siana!"

It reached for her from the light. She flinched, preparing for the inevitable strike. Had she misbehaved? She had tried so hard to do as they asked! Were they going to send her to the pit? It had been so dark there! Nothing had ever been so cold -- so suffocating! -- to simply be near. Her eyes snapped shut and she trembled in anticipation. She whimpered fearfully and instantly regretted the action; her punishment would only be prolonged by her cries.

An arm had reached behind her and pulled her into the bright light. Another supported her just beneath the knees. She felt something warm against her side. This was new; different... none had ever treated her this way. The blows were always quick to come, never had they bothered with... sympathy? That was the word, was it not?

Her eyes opened slowly, almost fearfully. She was afraid that it was all just a dream, that if she looked at the face of her saviour, it would all fade away.

Pale orange-yellow light reflected off his hairless scalp. He had a wide chin, and if she focused really hard, she could make out azure eyes that were filled with passion. It was difficult to focus though, she was bouncing up and down in his arms, and there was a dizziness that refused to stop spinning the world.

Suddenly, she was incredibly cold. It seemed to burn her exposed skin, and there was a lot more of that than she had imagined. Her cry of pain was instinctive and again she cursed herself for her weakness. Would she be punished? Were they treating her kindly just to build up her hopes and then dash them to pieces?

Soft warmth covered her. Smooth, silky sheets quickly took to the heat of her body and sheltered her. She sighed in relief as the cold was scared away, then cried out in surprise when she was laid atop some sort of wooden plank.

"We're getting out of here, alright Siana? You stay with me!" his voice was so emotionally-charged that she almost believed that this was no trick; that this was no dream. Certainly never had her visions assaulted her with both pain and joy, just all of one and none of the other. Then he looked her in the eyes and she saw no duplicity in them.

She nodded briskly.

The sound of his footsteps faded away. Dimly, she could hear a conversation exchanged. She focused, making out the voices to her right.

"-do to her you bastard? What did you do in the name of the Patrician?"

Silence followed and she wondered if the voices had simply been too hushed for her to overhear. Then finally! It was the same voice that had saved her, though with none of the warmth. "-to give an answer? Fine!"

A sickening crunch followed. She flinched and nearly hit her head against the wooden board she had been leaning against. Then there was a gruesome snap and accompanying thud. Footsteps approached her again, growing louder with every closing thump. There was some sort of creaking sound, and then he spoke to her.

"Sorry about that, I didn't want to do it but he left me no choice. Now we're getting out of here."

Still huddled within protective sheets, she glared at the bald man in suspicion. Was he going to do the same to her?

"He was one of your guards; thought he might know something useful. Stop worrying, it'll be fine."

There was something about the way he said those words that invoked feelings of trust and worry at the same time. She frowned at the internal conflict, finally deciding to stick with the former. She gave him a nod and attempted to smile.

He walked away swiftly and moments later, when the wooden planks she was sitting on began to rumble, she realized that she was in a wagon of sorts. She heard the soft squawk of a chocobo and sat up, rearranging the silken sheets to cover herself fully. The crisp night air was a refreshing change.

"Thank you," she rasped in a dry crackled voice that sounded nothing like her.

He turned back, a relieved smile on his face. In one hand, he held the reins to the lone chocobo pulling the wagon. The other was a thumbs-up signal.

"You'll be fine, Siana."

---

She woke up under the glare of the sunlight streaming through partially broken panes of glass. A smile touched her face as she basked in the warmth of the winter sun. Siana Deardon wrapped the silken sheets tightly around her, then looked at her abode.

"Sabin?" she asked.

Rest on a real bed, fresh air, and the mouth-watering smell of stew all helped clear the haze in her mind. Siana felt better with every passing second. She flinched when her bare feet hit the cold wooden planks of the cabin. It was a small room that she was in, and considering how everything from pots and pans to jackets and boots seemed to be heaped in a single corner, she was pretty sure that was all there was to the hovel. There was a small table -- barely capable of serving a single person -- and an even smaller furnace in the corner. The blackened heater was broken though; pipes leading outside were snapped.

A fresh change of clothes lay on top of the table. They were as clean as Siana could expect and herbs had been rubbed all over to cover the smell of livestock.

Outside, a thin layer of powder from the overnight snowfall lay upon the ground. Footsteps led to a campfire safely away from the wooden cabin, and in a pot there was stew being kept warm by glowing coals. Siana picked up a bowl and spoon that had been left out, hastily washed it with a fistful of snow, and then feasted. Her long imprisonment might have lowered her standards but she knew poor rations when she tasted them, and this was much superior to the meals-in-a-can of the army. She wolfed down an entire bowl and was helping herself to seconds before she heard quiet muttering from behind the cabin.

Siana put down the bowl with much reluctance and glared suspiciously in the direction of the noise. Carefully making her way through the thick, partially-trodden snow -- for one thing her boots did not fit. For another, she had only a dull knife that had been left in the coals of the campfire -- the muttering became audible.

"-four pillars to protect, a fifth to complete the link-"

"Sabin?" Siana queried as she strolled around the corner of the cabin. He was drawing on the wall, a lump of coal leaving marks against the bumps of the wooden logs. "What are you doing?" she asked as she took a step back. There were a number of strange geometric patterns on the back of the cabin, as circular as one could make considering the wall was not flat, and they intertwined intricately in a mass of triangular shapes near the centre.

Sabin turned around and smiled. "Glad you remembered my name," he said with a smile.

Siana cleared her throat self-consciously. "I was just tired last night. My memory is fine," she replied with a questioning eye on the piece of coal he gripped tightly. "Thank you for the breakfast as well, it was delicious. I didn't know you were a cook, or how you even found all the ingredients."

Sabin turned back to the cabin and with deft strokes, completed the complex symmetry in the geometric shapes. "You've been asleep for two days," he explained. "Since then, I found this abandoned cabin, caught a rabbit with a trap and made some stew. It's funny, snaring the rabbit was more difficult than finding shelter"

"Where are we?" Siana asked, surprised at how long she slept but unwilling to show it. "I don't recognize anything, though I didn't expect to..."

Sabin backed away from the cabin wall. He closed one eye and then turned his head sideways. Judging that the pattern was correct, he tossed the piece of coal into a mostly undisturbed field of snow. "I'll be honest. I'm not exactly sure where we are either."

Siana frowned, at the weird patterns on the cabin wall and at Sabin's ignorance. "What do you mean you don't know where we are? How did you find me then?"

The light-hearted smile on Sabin's face vanished in a blink of the eye. "You really don't want to know that," he answered in a regretful tone.

The former Imperial pilot took a deep breath of cold winter air. The last time she had been free -- it felt like eons now -- it had been fall and winter was many weeks away. They had been approaching Pierpoint in a very nice carriage with an equally nice driver by the name of Heller. And Sabin had hair, she added mentally. Now it was the deep of winter though, they were lost in the middle of the highlands and Sabin was still holding out on irrelevant secrets. There were plenty of sayings that came to mind, though she was sufficiently thankful that most seemed ridiculously rude. "You went through the same as me," she stated blankly.

A grunt of acknowledgement.

"Then you should know it would put me at ease knowing that you punished the bastards that did this to us," Siana growled. The thought of all she had been through had invoked bloodlust that she once controlled. A Magitek Pilot could not give into base emotions.

Sabin sighed. He rotated his arms, stretching them out. Only now did Siana realize his hands were heavily bandaged; even the fingers were wrapped beneath layers of cloth. "They won't disturb us ever again," he said at last. "Maybe another time, right now, I think it's best to forget the past."

Siana nodded in agreement. "That would be nice," she mumbled as her fingers gingerly touched the scar that ran down her right arm from shoulder to wrist. Her eyes returned to the geometric patterns upon the wall. The outermost shape was a pentagram whose inner lines twisted but still symmetrical, forming multiple smaller pentagrams as well as triangles.

"To ward us," Sabin answered her unspoken question.

"From?"

"Magic," Sabin replied. "Is there any stew left?"

Siana was still staring at the alleged magical ward. A confused scowl was upon her face. "That will protect us from magic?" she asked incredulously.

"Yeah," Sabin called out, already out of sight. Siana could hear him scooping stew out of the pot, his spoon kept hitting the side and made clanging noises.

Siana sighed loudly. She cast one last look of unsettlement at the complex mass of geometry, cursed the vile art that was magic, and then headed back to claim seconds of the stew before it was too late.

---

Terra strolled into the farmhouse crackling with magical power, her wolf mantle slightly-open and silken scarf draped over her shoulder. Long grey hair flowed freely behind her, she rather liked the feeling. Beside her was Anthony, the youngest of Norris' handpicked forces and capable medic. Instead of a bow, he had drawn a short sword.

Old wooden planks creaking announced the pair's arrival. The abandoned house was only a single floor, and perhaps it had been a comfortable dwelling at some point in time. But after being raided, having windows broken and cupboards stripped bare, it was little more than another mystery. The furnishings that were useless as firewood were overturned, and a thin layer of snow and ice had built up almost everywhere.

Anthony gave her a questioning look and Terra shook her head. She was sure nothing was nearby, magical or not, and Anthony was satisfied. The soldier trusted her. She had gotten quite good at scanning their surroundings, even if their ambushers were spell-hidden.

Locke stepped through a hole in the brick that had once divided the living space from barn. His eyes shifted from side to side, never pausing on the pair in front of him. He looked unprepared, but Terra knew better. The bow strapped to his back was there to mislead. Around his wrists were two miniature crossbows, loaded and quite lethal.

Terra didn't know when he had gotten those, probably when Miles and Gossman had returned from the army camp with fresh supplies. However, she knew Locke had become quite capable with them. Their journey to Tzen had been extremely dangerous, the New Order was everywhere and they had been attacked twice in two days. Neither had been an ambush, Terra had sensed both approaching squads just in time. Norris had helped Terra annihilate the first. The second, Sherwood and Locke eliminated in the midst of a sleeping village without any noise.

"This is the fifth one," Norris' voice came from behind them. The wizened old man gestured back outside. "There's obviously a pattern."

"Colonel, the house is secure. I'll join Sherwood outside," Locke announced.

Norris held up a hand. "No, search the house again for clues. Terra, help him. Anthony, you're with me. We'll do a sweep of the area and reconvene in ten minutes." He made eye-contact with Terra, and then headed back outside with Anthony trailing.

Terra frowned at Norris' intrusion, even if it was well-meant and perhaps necessary from his point of view. With a grumble, she decided to address Locke, who was already walking back towards the barn. "Locke," she called out.

Locke had a serious but kind expression. "We don't have much time. Norris is right; another abandoned house this deep in the Imperial heartland is no small matter that could be ignored. If we find any clue on who-"

Terra nodded. "I know Locke, I..." she sighed, unsure of how to proceed. But she could still remember the day before. Locke had snuck behind the squad of Imperial soldiers and downed four of them in a blink of an eye. It had been so efficient, so cold. He had tipped the points of his bolts with a deadly poison. Terra had known about the yellow gauze because she had seen both Sherwood and Anthony apply it to their own arrows. It was a horrible weapon that would cause one's muscles to seize up, sometimes immobilizing them so excessively that they were unable to breathe.

She had never expected Locke to use something so vicious.

"I just wanted to know if you're alright," Terra continued.

Locke raised an eyebrow. "There's nothing wrong with me," he said. A smile came to his face. "In fact, you could say that I feel better than I have in a long time."

Albrook. His attitude was the same as it had been in that city, shortly after the Messis Luna and when he had asked Donnach to help him with his archery. "Good," Terra was nonplussed by that connection. "I was worried that the spells I cast might have some sort of strange effect on you," she lied. If she was sure of anything, it was in her magic.

Locke frowned, but quickly hid it. "I haven't thanked you for that, have I?"

"You don't have to," Terra replied. She blinked away the tingling feeling in her eyes. "You've helped me more times than I can count, ever since you saved me in the caves of Narshe. You've always been there for me, even when I wasn't there for myself."

"Terra..."

She smiled back, interrupting him before they embarrassed each other anymore. "I should be thanking you, for everything."

Locke gazed down at his feet. He mumbled something under his breath that Terra didn't hear, except something about 'gave'. She was about to ask about the poison when he interrupted her.

"You're too kind," he answered at last with a soft smile. "I've gotten us into some pretty nasty situations, like when we were caught by Danielle Meras. And I haven't always been there for you, maybe I was getting close and personal to a pine tree, maybe I was dealing with some crazy girl, or maybe I was busy swimming in a pool of my own blood."

He might have been smiling, but Terra could see the pain in his eyes. No amount of magical power could ever erase the events of that day; it would be a constant burden upon his soul. Shivers still ran down her spine when she thought about Gwendolen Ford. The image of that curved blade twisting in his broken body... she knew no matter what she had done afterwards, it hadn't been enough. She might have brought him back from the dead, but that didn't change the fact that he had died.

Died trying to save her.

"Locke, you can't expect-"

Locke held up his hand. "I know I can't," he interrupted. "Just know this Terra: no matter what happens, no matter who stands between us, I will do my best to protect you. I promise you that."

Terra felt warmer than usual. Her gloved hand instinctively hovered over her breast and a smile spread across her face. "Locke... that's..." words faltered as she thought about the poison on his crossbow bolts. "I've noticed you are working closely with Anthony and Sherwood," she noted quietly.

"They've been quite helpful," Locke looked full of determination. He brushed at the brown leather armor beneath his white-washed cloak. "I'll do whatever is necessary to protect you. Sherwood has been in the army for a long time, he knows a lot about handling Magitek Knights that I knew nothing of. We came to some conclusions and I filled him in on some tricks that he didn't know. Anthony also knows his stuff, especially about herbs and what-not. You should see what medicines he can concoct out of winter growth."

"Locke..." Terra whispered. She blinked twice, confused. She swore she saw something small and golden glint near his chest, but knew he didn't wear any jewellery.

"Yes?"

Terra realized that he was still waiting for her to speak and instead she was staring at his chest. Her gaze averted, she quickly collected her thoughts and stowed them away. "It's nothing. I guess I'm still not used to you in that armor," she lied. "It still doesn't look right on you."

Locke shrugged. "It does the job," he waved aside her concern.

Terra frowned deeper. Though she had covered with a quick lie, that wasn't the reaction she had expected. "Listen Locke-"

"Anything?"

The two Returners turned around, shocked out of their private moment by the appearance of Norris. The old Magitek Knight had stuck his head through one of the broken windows, a questioning look on his face.

"No, as usual, we didn't find anything," Terra lied quickly.

Norris nodded gruffly. "Well we did. We need to make a detour."

"A detour?" Locke echoed. "What did you find?"

"Several hundred dead soldiers that way," Norris answered. He pulled his head out of the window and pointed to his right: westward. "We need to move out, and quickly."

"Where are we going?" Terra asked suspiciously. She had been hoping to see Relm before the end of the week. They had left Strago's granddaughter under Imperial guard for long enough, it was beyond negligence now and Terra did not want to delay any more.

But Norris was deadly serious. "We're going to Vector," he said in an icy tone.

Shivers ran down Terra's spine. "The Imperial Capital? Why?"

Norris didn't bother hiding the worry on his face.

"I fear the worse."


	15. A Deepening Shadow

**The Fifteenth Chapter - A Deepening Shadow**

The Imperial Capital: Center of an Empire that spanned a continent and had clenched its claws around another, Vector was the crown of civilization. It was a cold, industrialized city that bore little resemblance to any other in the world. With cobblestone replaced by flat, melted black rock, metallic skeletal frames stretching high into the sky, a mass of smoke-spewing factories and the dark walls of the Imperial Palace set in its midst, Vector was not a sight to sooth the eye. But it was home to over a million Imperial citizens, larger than even the coastal city of Albrook.

There was a saying: all roads led to Vector. It was arrogant perhaps, but not entirely untrue.

Vegetation seemed to be all but extinct near the Imperial Capital. Dark clouds churned overhead, giving the impression that the city was always grey. It was mostly smoke from the factories and given to the whim of mother nature, but no matter what its proponents said, the city always seemed overcast. As Terra strolled along the main roads that led to Vector, she could not think of a single good thing about the center of the Empire.

She had lived here for sixteen years of her life. She remembered every moment and hated all of them. Even at a distance, she could see the dark walls that ringed the Imperial Palace. They were tall and imposing, a solid mass of black stone that interposed itself against any who sought to enter or leave. The gates were no less ominous, great shafts of metal twice as tall as the greatest Magitek Armor. It was the only passage through the walls.

Terra knew that from personal experience.

Yet despite the vitriol buried deep within her soul, Terra Branford would never have wished this upon the great city.

The factories were silent, the smoke stacks idle. Not a sound could be heard from what should have been the biggest collection of peoples in the entire world. Instead, the fires of war had claimed the greatest prize there was.

The dead were everywhere! It was what Fanshaw should have looked like, a war-torn battlefront riddled with tens of thousands of cadavers. Terra had to step over the bodies that littered the road -- there were so many! -- and into the rubble that was once the center of civilization. Its citizenry were dead, or escaped into the countryside and slaughtered there. An uncountable number of buildings were collapsed, the tell-tale sign of Tek missiles and elemental cannonade everywhere. Even Magitek Armors, their once dominating hulks broken asunder, were strewn haphazardly in the chaos.

And it only got worse the deeper they went.

---

He took each step carefully, in as much disbelief as the first time he had climbed the very same stairs. Vector had been aflame then, the Espers had struck down the Empire and killed tens of thousands. This was much the same, though unbelievably more horrific. The crossbows strapped to his wrists felt heavier with every step and he chided himself for letting down his guard. His eyes scanned every nook and cranny. While appearances suggested nothing was alive, he was not taking any chances.

Locke Cole found himself before the entrance of the Imperial Palace, relatively sure that they were safe. Ignoring the red and black banners of the Empire that had been burnt to a crisp, he turned around and froze at the sight.

A fire unlike any had broken out in one section of the city. Behind its wake, there was a crater similar in size to those left by the beams of the Floating Continent. An explosion had been the cause of such a catastrophe. From his perch before the Imperial Palace entrance, he could make out concentric circles of rubble. It took a little effort to see the patterns, but it was definitely there. Shockwaves, again like those released during the Floating Continent's final moments, had devastated thousands upon thousands of homes.

This had been recent. Less than a week ago, Vector was a bustling city of over a million people.

Norris reached the top, his face forcefully impassionate, and was closely trailed by Terra and Anthony. Sherwood was already by Locke's side, and at the bottom, Gossman and Miles made sure no one was following them before climbing the hundreds of stairs as well.

The Imperial soldiers were remarkably composed, considering the extent of death and destruction that had claimed the crown city of the Empire.

"Well," Norris said as he took in the sight of the Imperial Capital from their high vantage point. Dark clouds continued to churn overhead despite the factories being inoperative. "At least this detour wasn't in vain."

The pattern they had discovered had led them to the understanding that people were fleeing from Vector, abandoning everything, over the past weeks. They had guessed that the New Order had done something vile in its rule. It had been the simplest explanation. After all, everyone knew that the New Order had been without mercy or foresight. Monsters had run rampant, starvation widespread and disease unchecked.

None expected this.

"Gossman, take Terra, Anthony and Miles inside. Sherwood and Locke, you're with me," Norris pointed along the ramparts that ran around much of the Imperial Palace. "We'll scout the outside. The Imperial Palace is the only thing in all of Vector that seems remotely in one piece, so it'll be the best place to start sifting for clues. We need to find out what happened here."

Norris gazed long at the six Magitek Armors broken on the ramparts around them. Dozens of soldiers also lay dead in front of the Imperial Palace's entrance, a thin layer of snow covering each like a makeshift blanket.

Clues? Everyone knew what happened in Vector, Locke thought. He glanced back at the ruins of the great city, knowing that there were easily hundreds of thousands of corpses in any direction he choose to look. The scene was an eerie reminder of his past and that was a maddening thought. Had he still clung to that universal, irrational hatred, he might have been pleased at the sight.

But not only had he moved on, he was better than that. Locke Cole did not wish this on anyone, not even to those at the center of the Empire.

"-half an hour, let's move people."

---

The three men had been silent throughout their trip around the outskirts of the Imperial Palace. Upon the ramparts that ringed the mighty ruling center of the Empire, one had a perfect view of all of Vector. At any other time, it would have been an impressive sight. Few could fault the Emperor's choice of residence; it oversaw the greatest collection of industrial power in the entire world.

It was not pretty. Never would one see a portrait of the Vectorian cityscape in an art gallery of Jidoor, but it was difficult not to be proud of what civilization had become. From dark days of barbaric scavenging and foraging to the technological might and splendour of the Empire, it was a majestic sight.

But Vector had been flattened. The jewel of civilization was in ruin.

Norris' eyes never strayed from the Imperial Palace, the only building of note still standing within the capital. Its impenetrable walls had protected it from unimaginable energy. The Colonel calmly noted that research would have to be done into that topic, for something had exploded in the midst of the city. That something had left a crater to match those created by the Floating Continent. It was not much of a leap in logic to assume the enemy had an abominable weapon.

His breathing was forcefully calm.

The enemy. Karen had given him a folder with all the information she could compile on the state of the war. It had been snuck into the supplies retrieved from the army camp, unbidden but certainly well-received.

Danielle Meras had been seriously delayed at the Gap near the Gaston Cliffs. That was expected. Norris recalled the bloody war fought there when the Empire had taken steps to curb the Kingdom of Tzen's aggression. The bloody battles fought in the Gap of Reddenhurst could have been used as material to scare rookies for another hundred years. Latest reports had placed her delayed indefinitely; analysts had concluded that in order for General Meras to break the New Order's defence within the month, it would take a miracle.

Well, they were just analysts. Norris didn't put much stock in the pen-pushers' opinions, but at least they had some solid facts.

Still, that meant there was only one person that could have been responsible for sacking Vector.

Norris shivered. Of all places, Vector had been sacked. The world was truly going mad.

In front of him, the team of Locke and Sherwood scouted ahead. Norris had taken the opportunity to silence the three of them -- no noise would be heard -- but he had a feeling that it wasn't needed. He had chosen the two men because as of late, they had been extremely reliable and even more capable.

"This door," Norris stared at the solid iron gate near the back of the Imperial Palace, far out of sight and equally out of mind.

Locke and Sherwood slipped in, each covering the other with their deadly poison-tipped crossbows. Neither was taking chances and Norris was no slouch either. He strolled in behind them, spells readied for all-out warfare.

---

Terra swallowed back the bile in her throat.

The Imperial Throne Room, covered by red carpet set against the dark metals that formed the inside of the Imperial Palace. Banners hung from the walls, proudly displaying the emblem of the Empire. It was not the first time she had been here, far from it. She had hated this place as much as she hated any other part of the palace. But never in her wildest dreams had she expected a scene like this.

Hundreds of soldiers had died here, common grunt, noble officer and Magitek Knight alike. The walls were partially melted from the exchange of spellcraft, the carpets blackened from unchecked fires that devoured everything it could. Cadavers covered by brown leather were heaped into makeshift blockades, weapons still penetrating innumerable bodies. The stench of death was everywhere, for though the Imperial Palace was cold, it still retained a bit of heat and some of the corpses had begun to decompose.

Anthony and Miles spread out, but the Imperial Throne Room was easily secured. There was only one entrance and that was where the majority of the bodies laid. Terra's spells searched for life, but as expected, none were left alive.

It was Gossman, the unassuming Imperial officer, who approached the throne first. Terra watched as the man walked along red, bloodstained carpet slowly, almost reluctantly. She had seen the same feelings reflected in all the faces of Norris' men, they were simply stunned at how battle could have spread to the Imperial palace. They had grown up defending this place and considering the strength of the Empire, it might have been inconceivable that such a disaster could have stricken Vector.

Shortly after the Esper strike on the Imperial Capital, Terra knew many in the Emperor's Court had felt the same. Back then, their emotions had been directed towards Terra's brethren. Many called for the destruction of those who dared attack the crown jewel of the Empire. Others had been dissuaded from fighting, saying that they had caused the disaster in the first place. But the one thing that had been uniform was disbelief.

While her mind was stretched out ensuring no nasty surprises within the palace, her eyes watched Miles, Anthony and Gossman closely.

There was a single person draped across the Imperial Throne. Blond hair and bloodied plate armor could be easily seen; a spear had gone clear through the chest. Bodies lay around the tall metallic chair as well, less densely packed there than anywhere else in the room. Many still gripped their blades, some of which were actually embedded in another corpse. Even dead, the soldiers fought on.

Terra made her way through the cadavers, her spirits uplifted suddenly. Perhaps there was a silver lining in this thunderstorm. If Anson Tilton was dead, then the Civil War would end. After all, there needed to be a leader of the New Order if it were to fight back.

Gossman rolled the body off the throne. He glanced down at the corpse.

"Who is it?" Terra asked. She was careful to keep the hope out of her voice. All three Imperial men were sombre; it would be rude of her to be anything else.

Gossman sighed. He bent over and closed the eyelids of the dead man. "Fighting until the very end," he whispered respectfully.

Terra's spirit darkened. Judging by his attitude, this was not the villainous Anson Tilton.

Anthony and Miles, bow and axe in hand respectively, made their way to the throne as well. "Who is it?" the one-eyed Miles echoed Terra's question.

Gossman stood. "General Hector Caleigh."

Sharp intakes of breath accompanied with whispered curses. Neither Miles nor Anthony looked particularly pleased.

"I thought he was the enemy?" Terra asked, confused by the display of emotion. Hector Caleigh had been Anson Tilton's most trusted and loyal supporter. Had the General not have backed Anson Tilton's claim to the throne, the Civil War would never have happened. The military would have remained of one mind, removing the pretender with relative ease and then dealing with the death of Emperor Gestahl properly.

Danielle Meras had branded Caleigh a criminal and a traitor. Remiel Lilienthal had helped Danielle attack Vector to dispose of the pretender. There was no reason for Norris' men to respect this dead general.

In the awkward silence that followed Terra's question, the three soldiers chose to examine random cadavers more carefully. Even Anthony, who was typically quite friendly, ignored her. Terra cleared her throat in annoyance.

Gossman turned around with a look of perplexity. "Terra," he started softly. "As a Returner, I suppose the destruction of Vector doesn't affect you in the same way as it does us." He approached her and put a hand on her shoulder as she was about to dispute his claim. "Not to say you don't have compassion, but you haven't spent your entire life working to safeguard-" he spread his arms and gestured around him, "-this."

No, but she had been imprisoned here for nearly her entire life, Terra retorted mentally.

"I knew General Caleigh," Gossman continued. He stared at the corpse of his enemy. "Half a year ago, I had been recently promoted and an excellent position within the Imperial Guard opened for me. General Caleigh had personally bestowed my rank, we had worked together for a while and he awarded my service. Two days later, Norris approached me and asked if I wanted to go to Albrook. I'll tell you... if it wasn't for my wife and her love for the ocean, I would have been here during the Long Night. I would have been here during the Siege of Vector."

Gossman gestured at the pile of corpses at the entrance of the Throne Room. "I would have been here defending the throne, like any other proper soldier."

Terra folded her arms, closing her wolf mantle in the process. She was impressed by the eloquence of the man.

"General Caleigh was never an ambitious man. He had his heart in the right place, protecting the Empire in his own manner. We might disagree with his actions, and certainly it was unacceptable for him to prop up a false Emperor, but everything he did was to protect the Empire; to ensure peace and prosperity for all peoples."

Gossman turned back to Terra, his eyes blazing with anger. "Anyone that desecrates Vector is the real criminal! Anyone that slaughters the thousands of innocent lives out there and sets fire to a city of over a million must be brought to justice! General Caleigh died fighting these barbarians, and I swear we will continue his battle." He turned and spat, hitting the leather armor of a corpse nearby. Splatter could be seen over a bloody, embroidered insignia. "The Maverick will burn for this."

"Enough!" Miles called from beneath the entrance archway. "Anson Tilton is clearly not here, we'll need to find his body as well."

Terra glanced back to the empty throne as the three Imperial men gathered near the front. Hector Caleigh had died here, one final valiant stand with the remnants of his forces. They had to have been hemmed into the room, a dead-end without any possibility of escape. They had fought to the last man, taking with them probably some two or three times their number.

Surrounded by the dead, she wondered what would have happened had Emperor Gestahl not died. Would the Civil War have broken out? Would so many lives have been taken? The bloodbath she had seen in the streets of Vector rivalled any scene she had witnessed even during the Empire's war with the Northern Continent. The dead claimed by this fallout had easily matched the numbers Danielle had predicted; oh so many months ago back in Tzen.

She had helped Danielle and Remiel come to an alliance to end the war. The treaty aimed to save life though. What was the point of Farin's work in Albrook if so many had died anyways? She had tried so hard to reverse the fallout of the Long Night, almost slaughtering innocent scientists in order to prevent lengthening the war. And even though it was Vector, even though she both hated and feared this place, even then...

"Terra!"

As Terra Branford strolled through the sea of dead corpses, she wondered what she should have done to prevent such a catastrophe.

---

Locke frowned as they turned yet another darkened corner. His eyes were sharp, but in the near-pitch-dark hallways of the Imperial Palace, they were of little use. It was just enough to guide them through the passageways as they delved deeper and deeper into the bowels of the royal residence.

Norris had been silent throughout their trip, instead pointing when the hallway split into several. He seemed to know where he was going, and the old man had no trouble navigating the darkened passageways, so Locke did not complain.

Suddenly, the passage ended. An old wooden door was in their way, which collapsed the moment Sherwood put his foot through it. A trail of sparkles shot form Norris' fingertips, flying into the opening as all the men covered their eyes. The blinding flash of light filtered through even that, but they had been prepared. Locke dove through the opening and quickly scanned his surroundings, twin crossbows ready to take down the sightless.

Both Imperials followed after him, nosily tossing the door aside as they did so. A faint glow appeared; Norris had cast some sort of illumination spell. In the dim but constant white light, Locke examined the old furnace room they had broken into.

"This is it?" Locke asked in amazement.

"I had expected a bit more, Norris," Sherwood pointed out as well, his eyes still scanning the machinery as if monsters would jump out at them at anytime.

Locke glanced down at the layer of dust covering the ground. He seriously doubted there were any threats down here.

Norris strolled forward without replying, causing the pair of archers to exchange confused looks. Locke quickly matched Norris' pace, trusting that the old Magitek Knight knew what he was doing. He watched the Colonel mutter under his breath, seeming to count each aged and discarded boiler.

A secret passageway, that's what they were looking for, Locke surmised.

His guess proved to be correct the moment Norris stopped, turned towards an unassuming brick wall, and pressed three fingers against a brick at eye-level. A strange glow spread around his hand and then with a bit of rumbling, the wall slid aside. Norris strolled in without a second-thought and though uneasy, both Locke and Sherwood followed.

The tunnel was a long spiral staircase that wound higher and higher. Norris no longer seemed to be concerned about potential threats, so Locke had a feeling that the Magitek Knight had done this several times before. He radiated a sense of disinterest that could only -- considering the state of Vector -- arise from the boredom of habit.

The stairs ended and another secret door slid open at Norris' touch. Locke and Sherwood entered the room after Norris, their crossbows sweeping across one of the most luxurious and beautiful rooms Locke had ever seen. A royal bed the size of a cabin, covered with silk sheets and a closed canopy was only the start. Locke's eyes indulged and feasted on the treasures before him: the works of art, the shimmering jewels and the precious metals. Even the rug below their feet was a masterpiece, woven with threads of gold and silver, and inlaid with pearls, rubies and even rounded diamonds.

Sherwood swore under his breath in surprise.

"This is the Emperor's room!" Locke declared. The emblem of the Empire was clearly displayed on the walls, hung from the ceiling some ten men-high. An impressive chandelier hung between twin arches of marble, one that put the House of Lilienthal to shame. The crystals... the diamonds... Locke heard Norris order them to guard the entrances, but he was busy tallying the cost of the room. The rug alone must have weighed several tons... and he noted with astonishment that there was still much more to explore.  
Locke followed Sherwood as they explored the Emperor's personal chambers. It consisted of six rooms, each as large as the first bedroom, as well as a massive hallway to connect them. Statues lined the sides of that center passage, but the light was too poor for Locke to read any of the inscriptions.

"Place is clear," Sherwood announced. He strolled out of a dining room, looking around in amazement at all the antiques and fine arts.

"I don't understand how this wasn't ransacked," Locke mumbled as he strolled out of a study with more books than most libraries. His eyes wandered across the huge doors that probably connected to the rest of the palace. As he did so, Ifrit, the magicite hanging around his neck, seemed to grow warm. Locke's vision wavered and it seemed like there was something flowing across the surface of the twin doors.

"These are nothing special," Sherwood took his hand off the polished wood. "Not even metal... it doesn't make sense why this area is still unsullied."

"Magic is blocking any access from that direction," Locke answered. He returned Sherwood's surprised look with a snide, confident smile. But while Locke was sure of the magic that barred entry, Ifrit's warmth was something wholly new. Not since the dangers upon the Floating Continent had he felt the departed Esper react this way.

Locke stormed back into the Emperor's bedroom, intent on getting them out of there. But Norris was crouched on the floor, a small globe floating over his shoulder giving off a faint white light, leafing through dozens of folders.

"Colonel?"

Norris glanced up from his readings, a pronounced frown on his face. "Yes?"

Locke narrowed his eyes suspiciously. In the dim lighting, he had caught some of the words on the parchment. Faster than Norris could respond, Locke lifted a folder clear from the old man's lap.

"Hey!" Norris tore the folder from Locke's grasp. But it was too late, Locke had seen enough to know what the Colonel had been reading.

"I'm not going to ask how you knew about that secret passage. I'm not going to ask how you knew these-" Locke pointed at the coloured folders, "-were here. But I want to know why the hell we're in the Emperor's private chambers reading about Terra's life!"

Norris matched the angry, betrayed look on Locke's face equally. He stood up, carefully picked out a beige folder, and slapped it against Locke's leather-armored chest. "Read it," he growled.

Locke didn't even look down at Norris' hand, but continued to glare at the face of the wizened old man. "I don't care about her past," Locke rebuked. "It's just history. I trust her."

Norris pushed his hand harder against Locke's chest. "Read it, and then tell me that."

Locke slapped Norris' hand away. The folder fell to the ground, papers flying all over the expensive gold-threaded rug. "I trust her," he repeated indignantly. He watched impassively as the Magitek Knight waggled a finger, papers seeming to float across the ground of their own accord and back into the opened folder.

Norris bent down, picked up the folder, and held it out to Locke once more. "I never asked you to stop trusting her," he replied. "But unlike you, I am well-versed in magic. I'm a lot more concerned about her health than you are because not only did I witness everything that happened at Gwendolen Ford, but I understood it at a metaphysical level."

The outrage Locke had been feeling weakened just a bit.

"I knew she was in Vector over a year ago, standing right by the Emperor and three of the most powerful Generals in the army. Since even I didn't know about her existence until then, it must have been a highly guarded secret. So where would the Emperor keep his most precious, classified documents?"

"Why didn't you ask her?" Locke growled.

"Because that won't get me the truth. I needed objective records, and it seems like I found her life history in the process. I should have known she grew up here."

"You should have trusted her and asked her directly, instead of deceiving her and-"

"Locke," Norris interrupted. "Did you even, just once, try to rationalize the events around Gwendolen Ford? Or have you been too busy trying to push it to the back of your mind?"

"I know what happened," Locke growled. "The Maverick-"

"-is irrelevant. Four Magitek Knights went after us specifically that day, one of whom I knew personally, so before you convince yourself that it was all coincidence, try to understand that it was not an insignificant assembly of rookies. An elite taskforce that could lay waste to ten times their number ambushed us! They went after Terra specifically, luring her away from the main force so they could capture her!"

Locke scowled. "And?"

"Are you daft? They wanted Terra, badly, and we have no idea why. Maybe you enjoy being ignorant, but I didn't live this long by wilfully ignoring what I don't understand. This Sophis business is important enough for four Magitek Knights to risk their lives. They brought enough men to kill us a dozen times over. Are you following me yet?"

They glared at each other, an awkward silence settling in. Neither made a move in the darkness of the Emperor's bedroom. It was Sherwood who broke the stalemate, having grown tired of staring at an inert, magically blockaded door.

"We're going to be late," Sherwood announced as he took the folder from Norris' hand. He held it out to Locke and addressed his commander. "If we're done here..." he trailed off, waiting for the Colonel to speak his piece. But nothing happened until Locke reluctantly took the folder. The Returner made a show of shoving the parchment into his pack.

"Let's go back," Norris ordered.

---

They reconvened at the entrance to the Imperial Palace, humbled by what they had seen. It was not the first time they had seen such slaughter, the soldiers of the Empire had seen such scenes many times throughout their careers while Locke and Terra had been on the receiving end of Magitek cannonade. This was different though. This was a slaughter unprecedented by magnitude and unbelievable in venue.

Fanshaw was but a fraction of the massacre here.

"We haven't found Anson Tilton yet," Gossman was saying. "It's possible that we might have missed him in the ocean of corpses, but we should assume he's still alive."

Terra didn't pay much attention as Norris' men discussed their findings. She only stared out over the ruins of Vector; the rubble stretching past the horizon, homogenous in the devastation. "There are survivors," she stated softly. "They must have fled in droves when it became obvious that the capital was taken."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that," Norris said. He shook his head sadly. "I'd like to believe it, but this is Vector. I don't think anyone expected that the Maverick would allow his men to destroy the capital, even those being subjugated."

The Maverick; he was the bloody conqueror of Maranda, a remorseless power-monger that had betrayed his allies and was now a monster that had turned on his own people and slaughtered them by the millions. Norris had also believed that Maverick Drummond was behind the attack on Fanshaw and the commander of the men that had ambushed them at Gwendolen Ford. Terra folded her arms, her mood darkening as she thought about their enigmatic foe.

"I'd like to know how any soldier could have done such a thing," Miles growled. "This was home."

Not for everyone, Terra thought. She turned back to the Imperials, but her eyes made contact with Locke's. She gave him a questioning look, but he quickly turned away.

"What do we do now?" Gossman asked.

Norris sat down upon the arm of the broken Guardian, wiping off a layer of snow before he did so. So massive was the war-machine that his feet didn't touch the ground. "There are a lot of political considerations to be carefully weighed now," Norris said.

"Why aren't we continuing to Tzen?" Terra asked.

Norris sighed. "Vector has fallen. This changes everything. Even if Anson Tilton is still alive, such a loss would destroy his popular support within the army at least, if not within the general population. In addition, if he were to lose control of the Palace... the symbolism would topple the New Order."

Locke gawked at Norris as if he had grown wings. "Are you suggesting we stay here and defend this city with seven people?"

"No. But we need to stay here until I can get a few more teams to defend the Palace. We'll get reinforcements from Karen and keep control of this place with a hundred men."

"That's lunacy," it was Sherwood who spoke up. "Locke's right. There's no way we can hold the Palace, even if we had a thousand men! Now assuming Anson Tilton is dead, the New Order still knows that Vector has fallen. A lot of people managed to escape the slaughter. After all, that's how we found out something terrible had happened in Vector... when thousands raided every single home in a week's radius for food and shelter. That'll bring reinforcements from the New Order... at least an army or two."

"Norris, with all due respect, Sherwood's right. The New Order probably has an army coming this way," Gossman added. "The civil war might have screwed around with all the garrisons and the Core contingents might be lacking central leadership, but this is still the Core. Even Mansfield is only a week's march away. Tens of thousands could be here within the day, and that's ignoring the Maverick! He sacked Vector! That alone should tell you that there are several divisions out there that might swing back and retake the capital."

The old Magitek Knight's gaze slowly panned across each of their tiny group, at last settling on Terra. He looked her in the eyes.

"It's an impossible task," Terra offered. "We should continue to Tzen."

Norris sighed again. "The Civil War could end right now," he stated. "We destroy Anson Tilton's legitimacy and bolster our own with a single stone. He has no support. Hector Caleigh is dead. The remnants of the House of Lords assist General Lilienthal. We have very little to lose if we hold the Palace, even if it's just a token force that has to retreat in a few days. But if the phantom reinforcements don't show, if the New Order is in the massive disarray I hope it is in, then we end this war with our actions."

Terra found it difficult to disagree with Norris. As much as she wanted to see Relm once more, this was an incredible opportunity to actually end the Civil War.

"We're going to follow whatever decision you make, Colonel," Gossman quickly added. Everyone was concerned over Norris' melancholy attitude.

"There's no reason not to try," Terra answered Norris' unspoken question. "We'll-" she caught a weird look from Locke, but ignored it, "-stay with you."

Norris stood up. He turned around and stared at the great, broken machine that he had just sat on. "Thank you," he whispered with his back turned, dwarfed by the corpse of the Guardian.

---

Setzer Gabbiani folded his arms, closed his eyes and tried to distance himself from the flurry of activity about him. It was hard. His sea-legs were more than capable of maintaining balance despite the turbulent waters, but noise assaulted him every second. He could hear the sound of waves breaking upon the hull and the low growl of the approaching thunderstorm. Wind and seawater peppered his face no matter which way he faced. With a great sigh, he gave up trying to seek just a tiny bit of inner peace.

He readjusted his hat.

"Mister Twig!"

Setzer "the Twig" Gabbiani turned around only after ensuring that the brim of his hat was facing outwards properly. The man approaching had even bigger hat, a gaudy thing with gold trim and a feather sticking out of the top. Setzer had been on many ships in his life. Only one kind of person wore such a headpiece and got away with it.

"Captain!" Setzer acknowledged with a respectful nod.

The Captain, known only as Drake even to longest-serving men aboard the Golden Arrow, was a large man who had deserted the Imperial Navy. Tales about Captain Drake were usually embellished heavily if not outright lies, but Setzer knew a former military man when he saw one. Drake maintained law and order with a crew of bandits. He was respected by most and controlled the rest through terror. Drake was intelligent, capable and ambitious. He was also arrogant and full of pride, which contributed largely to his fall from grace, or so Setzer assumed.

"Mister Twig, I expect good news!" Drake growled.

Setzer nodded. "Mister Williams over there-" he pointed to a young lad they had picked up only two weeks back, "-has a good eye. The freighter is heavily-laden and no doubt we outgun them. In addition, we've got the weather-gauge. Finally, some luck!"

Drake nodded gruffly. "Very good Mister Twig!" he turned away. "Beat to quarters!" he began to shout more orders.

Setzer sighed. He knew what he was about to do was terrible, but he had no choice. Fate had forced his hand, he couldn't hold out anymore without taking a chance! Months back, he had expected making his way to the Northern Continent to be a non-issue. Passage was never truly difficult for those that were motivated, even during the height of the war. However, he had never expected the Imperial Army to commandeer everything from tiny yachts to massive freighters. It had been the first time he had ever an issue finding a ship.

Those who still sailed freely, though all flew the Imperial Banner, did not help him. No one sailed to the Northern Continent. It was a deathtrap, they said. "Anyone with half a mind would turn back, if the storms and monsters didn't claim you, the navy on the other side would."

Setzer had trouble finding someone in command with less than half a mind, so he had hatched a desperate plan. It had taken three tries, but on the third attempt, pirates raiding a coastal village had seen fit to take him aboard. Pirates! Setzer thought sadly. Outlaws had grown fat while the Imperial armies were busy murdering one another; in the absence of authority they pillaged and raided to their heart's content.

At first, Setzer had been stuck with bilging and other disgusting jobs. It had been then that they had labelled him as the Twig. Setzer didn't mind, it was nothing more than a nickname and also helped hide his true identity. During his time as nothing more than a slave, the physical labour had helped rebuild his crippled body. No longer was he gaunt and sickly, still weakened from the poison that had kept him asleep for weeks and nearly claimed his life, but once more he could stand tall and strong.

As his body strengthened, Setzer made sure to stand out whenever an officer was near. After all, he was a master of sailing. From rigging to fleet tactics, Setzer lived and breathed the language of vessels. He was quickly promoted as his skills became obvious. There was jealously from some older members of the crew, but Setzer had made many friends while he was the Golden Arrow's whipping boy. Few could forget what humble origins Mister Twig came from; he used to clean slop right beside them! Thus he had eventually gained the eye of Captain Drake.

That had been a dangerous time. Rumour that Mister Twig was actually an Imperial agent spread like wildfire, but few could argue that the former-cripple had always remained loyal. Not once had he left the ship since he boarded, not even when they went ashore to celebrate their riches with drink and company. Captain Drake's suspicions quickly passed. Indeed, most now assumed that Mister Twig was once an Imperial sailor, one of high standing that had become disfranchised and left for the freedom of the high seas. Perhaps that had been part of the reason why Drake had trusted Setzer so, but Setzer had never once substantiated those rumours. They made him very uncomfortable.

Then raiding had gotten tough. The Imperials had returned with their big frigates and the seas were no longer safe for men such as them. The Golden Arrow had gone from being laden with treasure to sneaking along the coast hoping for a village to raid. It was pathetic, but unlike their other pirate brethren, they had not been defeated by the Imperial Navy.

It had been several weeks past since their last successful raid, almost called off as an Imperial frigate had neared. Indeed during that time, Drake's first mate had been killed in the chaos of their hasty retreat. Later, Mister Twig had taken his place with few disagreements. The Golden Arrow largely adored their newest officer.

Now as they came upon a freighter, of Imperial origins but lacking an escort during these tough times, Setzer brought the eyepiece to his eye and smiled. He set down the telescope and ran over to Drake. A fake scowl was on his face before he spoke with the Captain. "Sir! Imperial soldiers are aboard, I counted at least three on deck."

Drake was quite eloquent at times. He proved this once more with a string of colourful curses. "How many would you say there are in total, Mister Twig?"

"On a ship that size? At least twenty, I'd reckon."

"That's a good guess... and a big problem if we storm'em. We have'em outnumbered, but those soldiers could hurt us badly," Drake cursed again. "Twig, get me the Bosun and then ready yourself. We're going to have a tough fight ahead of us."

Setzer nodded. Captain Drake intended to board himself, a rarity but he was a professional trained with a blade and they had few that could claim that. Setzer had proven his own duelling skills to be amongst the best -- furthering his reputation as a fallen Imperial sailor -- and so would be amongst those leading the charge.

During which, Captain Drake would fall.

Setzer ran through the mass of dirty sailors to find the boatswain. Unfortunately, he had gotten to become friends with Drake. Even though he had intended treachery the entire time, he had no choice. In order to become the first officer, he had to have the friendship of the Captain. Now it was time for that to end.

Reassuring himself that Drake was still a criminal, Setzer yelled orders to the boatswain. Once Drake fell, Setzer would have command of his own ship. In the outburst of emotion following the Captain's death, Setzer would ensure that the Golden Arrow made her way to the Northern Continent. Easier pickings away from the Imperial Navy, he would say.

Setzer retrieved his cutlass and with a cringe at his commander's pompous hat, took his place on the quarterdeck beside Captain Drake. The freighter had seen them finally and was already tossing crate after crate of valuables into the waters. It was a futile display, the Golden Arrow had the wind to her back and was closing on an excellent angle. Setzer turned to face Drake once more, the scarred fallen soldier still shouting orders.

A thunderous roar shook the Golden Arrow. The turbulent waters about the freighter exploded in spray and with a cheer aboard the pirate vessel, one of the enemy's masts fell down in a shower of wooden shards.

The battle had begun. Setzer's grip on his cutlass tightened. I'm sorry, Captain, but my real friends need me.

---

It had only been two days since they arrived in Vector when Sherwood returned. He and Miles had been sent south along a safe, but short route to Karen Alysworth and the armies entwined at Maley's Point. In that time, Norris and Terra had been hard at work weaving spells galore to protect the Imperial Palace. Years of experience combined with untapped potential turned the Imperial palace into a magical deathtrap.

While Gossman and Anthony cleared the halls of the dead, Locke had taken the opportunity to secure an escape route. He understood Terra's decision and respected it, but danger was ever-present. They were in Vector, center of the Empire, and attempting to hold the Imperial Palace with five warm bodies. It was lunacy and he would not blindly trust Terra's judgment on that matter. He nodded with satisfaction after a day of digging through the rubble and mapping the dark tunnels beneath.

The escape route he had discovered wound its way through the bowels of the Palace and into the sewage tunnels. It had taken every waking moment for Locke to find a path -- he had gone through three pads of paper stolen from palace -- but success was at hand.

When Locke returned to the surface with the route burned into his memory, things had changed for the better.

Sherwood looked idiotic on his chocobo, and Locke made sure the quiet soldier knew it. But the archer had returned with a squad of fifty-men and incredible news.

Maley's Point was no longer a massive blockade. The timely arrival of General Remiel Lilienthal, the Knights of Odin, and an additional twenty-thousand men had swung the contest heavily to one side. The New Order had cracked and retreated. In the chaos many cavalry squadrons had been sent into the Core of the Empire. This was one of them, and Sherwood led them through the ruins of Vector, through broken gates of the Imperial Palace to a surprised but relieved Magitek Knight.

"Miles has continued south to report; though he will likely be reassigned given recent losses," Sherwood told Norris while Terra explained to the newly arrived men how to avoid the magical traps throughout the palace. "The main force has already received several survivors from Vector, I think a lot more escaped than we thought. The leader of this squadron was sent directly here, it seems like General Alysworth was concerned."

"I expected that the Major's talents would be needed elsewhere..." Norris nodded several times with vigour. "Good! This is good! And news of Anson Tilton?"

"None, though scouts have been sent in all directions. The New Order is quiet, but it's not falling apart," Sherwood replied. He scratched at his scalp of long blond hair. "Still, I think Vector can be safely secured though."

That had been an optimistic assumption that both Locke and Norris did not share.

Two days and five-hundred additional men later, Colonel Norris Ferdinand was the de-facto leader of Vector. Then General Remiel Lilienthal had made that official. In a terse rescript, Norris was told to take control of operations concerning the safety of the capital until friendly armies could safely reach Vector. The New Order had not yet given up and had been harassing Lilienthal's forces to a great extent. Supply lines were collapsing and the advance was delayed by weeks.

It set off alarms that told Norris the New Order was still functioning under a competent, central leadership. He sent scouts in every direction, focusing on the city of Mansfield to the east. The Maverick was still out there, and Norris had confided in Terra that it was to the west his fears laid, but then those thoughts became irrelevant.

A force about five-thousand strong was discovered marching towards Vector from Mansfield. The banner of the New Order was flown with pride. Another fifty-thousand was behind them. Ten days it had taken them to recover from the sack of Vector and rally that kind of force to its succour, but now they were ready to contest control of the capital. They had expected to be fighting against the vicious barbarians that had destroyed the jewel of civilization, and so the odds were all that much more stacked against the insignificant foe that had secured the Imperial Palace.

Indeed they were insignificant. They were outnumbered a hundred to one and in a briefing room located in the Imperial Palace, debate had quickly devolved into heated bickering. There were cowards aplenty in the ranks that had reinforced Norris' original team and Terra found herself disgusted by the newcomers. They only thought of themselves, too afraid to accept the possibility of sacrifice for the greater good.

As Cyan might have said: typical Imperials.

Terra pulled Norris aside. "This is going nowhere," she whispered.

Norris nodded. "Things have only gotten worse now that we know Anson Tilton is leading the advance force. Our hopes that the forces arriving had been hastily assembled and thus of lower quality have been dashed."

"How long do we have?"

"Perhaps until this evening, not much more than that. General Alysworth is closest to the capital with her forces but even at best speed, advance elements won't be here before dawn," Norris strolled out of the room with Terra trailing behind.

Guarding the doors had been three men Terra did not recognize, as well as Locke. She smiled at him and he returned the same, but he was obviously under a lot of stress. Terra waited until they were out of earshot before speaking. "They don't seem to follow your leadership despite your rank."

"They're fools," Norris growled. "Too long have they faced nothing more than monsters... and I am not half the commander a real General is. I can barely keep the men in check, much less have them stand firm in the face of certain death."

"If only Leo were here," Terra mumbled under her breath.

Norris raised an eyebrow. "If only!" he exasperated. "Though if that fantasy were reality then the war might have been averted. Few would dare go against the honourable General and he would never have allowed the situation to degrade into civil warfare."

"I'm surprised I haven't been garrotted, considering the loyalty throughout the Imperial ranks to Leo," Terra remarked. They were strolling through one of the cleared halls of the Imperial Palace. It had yet to be restored, walls still showed signs of fire damage and blood stained the metallic floors, but the festering dead had been removed before disease took hold.

Norris chuckled softly. "I take it you have had some experience with that ill-founded rumour."

"I was under the impression that more than a few people believed I was involved in his assassination."

"There might have been only one thing more persuasive than loyalty to General Christophe and that was distrust of General Palazzo. I, and certainly the men under my command, never believed that rumour for a moment; spread only because Kefka's original lies of treachery would have failed even more pathetically. Never forget, Terra, that you were seen standing beside the Emperor and Leo in front of thousands. That is an image that is difficult to reconcile, especially when one takes into account Kefka's character."

Terra nodded. "So the Imperial Armed Forces aren't of one mind on that matter, I'd imagine," she pointed out.

"That, and many more," Norris answered. "Though in this case, I'd laugh at any who believed such a lie. It's indicative of deeper troubles within the army: our inability to question our superiors. I guess in the past, that kind of free-thinking would have been grounds for a court-martial. Treason, insubordination, who knows what kind of charges a commanding officer could bring to bear? So instead, we end up with sword-wielding sheep," he sighed wistfully. "What we need is a great leader... the men will follow any with strength of will, and that would end this damned war."

Terra clasped her arms behind her back and thought about Norris and Karen's conversation just a few days earlier. Factions amongst the Imperial Armed Forces with controversy that ranged from more than just a difference in leadership... "If Tilton successfully retakes this place, what happens?" she asked as they strolled through the halls of the Imperial Palace.

"The Civil War continues," Norris answered plainly. "Without Danielle Meras, we don't have the forces to keep our back secure and lay siege to Vector. The entire countryside seems to rise against our forces, the New Order has somehow managed to persuade even the common folk to reject us," Norris shook his head in disbelief. "Our forces arrive to protect them from monsters, offer food and shelter, yet they're still fighting us. I wouldn't have believed it if it wasn't in so many different reports!"

"There are five-hundred of us at most," Terra continued, ignoring Norris' comments. She knew what the reports said; she had been reading them as often -- if not more -- than Norris did. "Against just Tilton's advance force-"

"I know the odds," Norris snapped. The pair of magic-users had gone out to a balcony now, a place where the two had discussed many things over the past week. It was secretive, safe, protected, isolated, and most importantly, it offered a view of Vector to constantly remind them of the true cost of war. "It would be absolute lunacy to stand our ground. We'd be lucky to delay them even an hour, even if their forces didn't have any Magitek Knights with them!"

"This Anson Tilton," Terra continued. "Everything I know about him is second-hand, but I'm under the impression that he's smart, brilliant, charismatic, and extremely popular."

"Somehow despite the loss of the capital," Norris growled reluctantly.

Terra stared out at the pulverised remnants. The winter sun shone down and illuminated the snow-covered destruction for all to see. There had been no time to clear the rubble; it would take months to restore Vector to even a fraction of its former glory. "I still don't think it's a lost cause. The war has to end," she said passionately. "Anson doesn't sound stubborn. Maybe he'll listen to reason."

Norris smiled. "Have I told you how much I admire your spirit these days?"

Terra clasped her hands behind her back. "Not recently."

Norris chuckled. "You're right, and I know exactly what we should do."

"Really?"

"Anson is coming here blindly. He has not sent out scouts or else we would've encountered at least one of them, so he has no idea what's in Vector. Certainly he knows the general situation with the retreat of the Maverick and his barbarian horde, but he can't have an accurate assessment of our forces."

Terra nodded. She could see where Norris was going. "We're going to bluff."

"Partly," Norris replied. He gestured to the east. "Before the sun sets tonight, we're going to force Anson to the bargaining table. I hate to admit it, but he's a smart man. He knows what the loss of Vector will do to the Empire. In our mutual weakness, we'll co-operate for the greater good."

Terra smiled. "A peaceful resolution?"

"An attempt," Norris grinned. "It'll require one hell of a facade."

Terra folded her arms. "And since you can't detach too many people from the palace, you want me to come with you," she smirked. "That's your plan, isn't it?"

Norris' grin faltered. "Anson Tilton isn't your average scientist," he warned. "He's also surrounded by powerful men, as well as some of the better Magitek Knights. It would be best if we didn't come to blows."

Her long grey hair shimmered under the winter sun. Terra Branford drew her wolf mantle around her as if it were regal in nature. "I wouldn't worry," she dismissed his concerns.

---

There was something about the situation that brought a smile to Terra's lips. Perhaps it had been that a force of barely twenty men had stopped the march of five-thousand. Or that they were attempting to stave off another ten times that number with smooth words and the threat of the unknown. Even better, success meant halting the civil war and saving millions from suffering the fate of those in Vector.

They had ridden to intercept the New Order's advance forces openly; after all they were a diplomatic mission. Armored chocobos met them along the road, no doubt alerted to their presence by more stealthy elements. It was the first time Terra met soldiers of the New Order, but they didn't seem too different from the Imperials she already knew. Brown leather and grey cloaks hollered for them to halt, swords drawn and arrows nocked. Their sigils proudly bore the black and red of the Empire, though it was tempered with something that Terra had never seen before.

It was a splash of white beneath the black emblem, a shadowy kind of effect that looked oddly like a hammer.

The New Order's cavalry wasn't all too impressive, and it seemed they thought the same of them. Norris spoke with their Captain, the two men alone and an equal distance away from both groups.

There were no Magitek Knights amongst the New Order's soldiers, so Terra knew they were in no danger. She explained the situation to Locke, who had ridden slightly ahead of her and was eying the New Order riders. He didn't relax, but shook his wrists from side to side. She had gotten used to seeing that motion, Locke did it to ensure his wrist-mounted crossbows were clear of his sleeves.

At last Norris waved to them and they were off. Their group of twenty rode with the New Order at a brisk pace until they left the road and trampled into the deep snow, chocobos slowing down substantially as they cut across the plains. Twenty minutes they crossed the countryside as such, nothing but farmland and a few speckled buildings -- abandoned houses -- in the distance. All of a sudden, the New Order's squadron of chocobos veered towards a specific farmhouse. As they approached, they could see that it was swarming with soldiers. Tents had been hastily setup around the two-story house, carriages were being unloaded, and chocobos were tended to.

"It seems like Anson Tilton has prepared a little meeting for us," Terra remarked as she dismounted.

"This couldn't have been done on such short notice," Norris said under his breath. "Sherwood," he turned to the dark-haired soldier. Of Norris' most trusted men, only the archer had accompanied the Colonel along this mission. The rest had been ordered to stay back in Vector.

While Norris and Sherwood spoke, Terra turned to Locke.

"I don't like this," Locke was already beside her. He kept his voice low. "This was planned in advance."

Terra nodded. "I can sense a number of Magitek Knights," she whispered equally quietly. "Be careful."

"I'll get us out of this if things get rough, don't you worry," Locke exuded confidence. "Keep your mind on Tilton, I'd like to see this war end just as much as you do. I trust you."

"Thank you Locke," Terra beamed with joy. She felt a tap on her back.

"Let's go," Norris said as the smile on his face melted away.

---

The staircase railings were broken, but was of little concern as they strolled into the meeting room prepared on the second-story. It had been recently cleared of rubble; broken glass swept aside and snapped pieces of wood tossed into another room. It smelled of mildew and the floor was caked with dirty water and half-melted snow. Yet a clean, freshly varnished table was in the center with six comfortable looking chairs as well.

No one was sitting though. Five figures stood at attention, each wearing a piece of unassuming, brown leather armor. Three men, one boy, and a woman. Three of them had been imbued with magic, Terra discerned this before she noticed any other features. The ones capable of spellcraft were two of the men and the lone woman.

The man in the center was still wearing his grey cloak. He stood tall -- not a large man but imposing nonetheless -- and the New Order's emblem was proudly displayed above his heart. His hands were clasped together, a look of amusement on his face. His brown hair was brushed back and around his neck hung what looked to be a pair of spectacles.

Norris stepped in first, Sherwood trailing and then Terra last. Locke had stayed outside the house with the rest of their escort, though Terra didn't doubt he would be close at hand if things got rough. Her eyes drifted from the man in the back-left corner, of large muscular frame and long black hair, to the woman at her immediate right. She was also in brown leather, a wicked pair of short-swords strapped by her right hip with blond hair cut so short that it reminded her of the clean-shaven heads of Reinhardt and Donnach, Farin's friends.

Terra hadn't scanned either of the two Magitek Knights, they might have felt the intrusion. But her gut told her they were inconsequential, unlike...

The man in the center was staring intently at her. She had pulled off her hood, grey locks cascading down her shoulders as she did so. There had been no time to dye her hair and Norris' men had gotten used to it anyhow.

"Colonel Norris Ferdinand. It has indeed been a while," the center man said without eyes leaving Terra.

Terra didn't back down from the stare and returned it with equal intensity.

"Anson Tilton," Norris addressed the leader of the New Order without any titles. "It's been a while since I stepped foot in the Magitek Labs."

Anson's amused smile grew as he broke eye-contact with Terra. "Yes, though I had never thought that Governor Lilienthal would allow you to head a diplomatic mission. I must admit I'm rather surprised that you would be here at all." He gestured through the broken window. "I would think that you would be placing all your efforts into defending Vector."

Norris crossed his arms. "We're tired of war after witnessing what has befallen our proud capital. General Lilienthal had delegated sufficient authority for me to parley with you. Further fighting over the corpse of Vector would benefit no one."

Anson was certainly nothing like the scientists Terra remembered. Neither introverted nor erratic, he had the air of a leader about him; a General of equal authority to that of Remiel or Danielle. He was about Edgar's age and carried on in a fashion similar to the Figarian King. He was certainly a pleasant sight to behold, without the scars of battle blemishing his face.

He didn't look like a pretender to the throne though. In fact, Terra didn't get the feeling that Anson had claimed anything at all. He was dressed modestly, General Leo would have looked more pompous next to Anson, and spoke with little indication that he was nobility. She had expected someone similar to those she met at the Messis Luna. All of Remiel's guests had been cut from similar cloth; of high society or royal upbringing. Anson Tilton was neither.

"Yes... well Colonel, you could say that no one really desires war," Anson replied. He had not yet made a move towards the seats or table and didn't look like he planned to. "But yet here we are, fighting against former colleagues and allies."

"Mister Tilton-"

"Anson, please."

Norris sighed. "Anson, if you simply saw what Vector looks like, you would understand."

"I have already witnessed, with my own eyes, the barbarism that Drummond has displayed of late," Anson folded his arms. "Norris, I'm only entertaining this meeting out of respect, for you, and the notion of peace. But don't think for a moment that you are fooling me with this charade."

Terra frowned. He knew?

Norris was impassive. "We do want peace," he stressed.

"We?" Anson echoed. "Perhaps you do, you've seen more than I ever have and I thank you for your years of service. However, both of us know that you report to Remiel Lilienthal. There's certainly no chance that he would entertain any sort of peaceful treaty between us. He's part of the old guard."

Norris was confounded. "I am here-"

"As a pawn of the nobility," Anson interrupted. His colleagues nodded briskly as he said so. "The very same House of Lords that feared the late Emperor enough to pass resolutions stripping him of his title and powers, the same House of Lords that begged me to take a subset of Gestahl's authority, and the same House of Lords that ran to the House of Lilienthal when the common folk rose up against them, those are the people you represent."

The elder Magitek Knight was struck silent. A frown creased his face. "And yet none of that has anything to do with our desire for peace," he answered at last.

Terra frowned. What was going on here? Why was Norris not refuting Anson's statements? She knew Norris well enough to tell that he was being awfully passive. Where was his characteristic mocking laughter?

"It has everything to do with this, for knowing the motivation of your command tells me that this entire meeting is absolute bullshit. I'm insulted."

"This meeting is for peace, and if you're telling me that you don't want such to entertain-"

"Colonel Ferdinand!" Anson slammed his hand upon the table and rudely silenced his elder. "I have had enough of the games! Even if I didn't know how weakly Vector is defended, how you spent the last few days weaving spell after spell in the halls of the Imperial Palace-"

Terra barely stopped the surprise from showing on her face. How did he know?

"-even if I was stupid enough to enter Vector without knowing the numbers I face -- even assuming all that, Ferdinand! -- even then I wouldn't take your statement at face value! I know Remiel Lilienthal," Anson growled. He shook his hand at Norris. "I know he can't stand that sight of me! He hates my very existence and I doubt very much that he has even acknowledged that the New Order exists, much less send his pet Magitek Knight to bandy sweet words and forge the makings of a truce."

"And here you are, with the gall to continue lying to my face. Desperate, aren't you?" Anson folded his arms again and quickly regained a calm countenance. "So desperate you would risk exposing yourself in order to stall my forces for just a few hours so that Karen Alysworth could send reinforcements." He shook his head sadly. "Whatever good a few hundred chocobos would do," he muttered under his breath.

Dumbfounded, it was the only word Terra could use to describe the feeling in the atmosphere. Even Anson's colleagues were taken aback by what their leader had revealed. The young boy and the male Magitek Knight in the back corner exchanged looks of concern.

"Nothing to say?" Anson asked. He did not seem at all smug, but looked disappointed. "I can't say I blame you. I considered your situation and that is why we are here in this abandoned home. It crossed my mind many times to simply kill you for your deceit. The sheer arrogance of what you expected to get away with was simply insulting! If Hector was still by my side, he would have counselled for your deaths to pave the road to victory."

The leader of the New Order ran a hand through his greasy brown hair, taking a deep breath while Norris attempted to recover. "But Hector is dead," he continued in a softer, more humble tone. "Vector has fallen, her once glorious splendour reduced to rubble. Several hundred-thousands have been slaughtered by the barbarians that once called themselves Imperials, and this is in addition to the hundreds of thousands that have already died in the past several months." Anson Tilton spread his arms and his grey cloak opened regally, like that of a make-shift cape.

"I felt compassion, even a small gesture, would be monumental."

The moment was awkward, to say the least. Terra could see that Anson's colleagues, still not yet introduced, had not known what was on their leader's mind. They seemed astounded at Anson's words -- why were they here if the entire meeting was intended to be deception from both parties? Equally surprised, but without showing anything on his wrinkled face, was Norris. To his left, Sherwood gave no outward sign of aggression but Terra was sure that he had already worked out an escape plan with Locke. The blond-haired archer watched the big, long-haired Magitek Knight at the back-left corner of the room; it appeared Sherwood had accurately pinpointed one of the magic-users without spells of his own.

As for herself, she calmly waited for the proper moment. In the meantime, she would listen to the words of Anson Tilton and evaluate the situation accordingly.

"Anson," Norris said at last, one hand had drifted down to his hip and pretended to smooth out the wrinkles in his robes. "I never thought you were stupid. You are the inventor of the Aegis Enclosure, which alone speaks volumes. But if all that you said is true, then your compassionate streak will only cost you the capital. Why agree to this meeting and a small display of mercy when it would weaken your bargaining position with my power-hungry commander?"

"I had thought you more clever, Colonel Ferdinand," Anson smiled. "There is a reason why we are so far off the main-roads and it is not for my protection."

Terra went white. He didn't!

"You never stopped your army from marching," Norris accused.

"They will arrive in Vector within two hours," the leader of the New Order acknowledged. "In return for an insignificant number of my troops, I have removed you, Colonel, from the equation."

"The notion of peace indeed," the old Magitek Knight snorted.

"Cold numbers," Anson responded. "Remiel Lilienthal was never one to be popular with Magitek Knights. Your support of the Governor aside, I doubt very much any other senior Knights to be in the ranks of Albrook. I, on the other hand," he gestured to his bodyguards, "can easily afford the loss of a few if your men are deprived your command, experience, and spellcraft."

Norris straightened. "You would dare strike ambassadors of peace?"

"Nothing so crude," Anson replied instantly. "I am not as ruthless as Lilienthal would have you believe, nor a despot without a sense of mercy." His gaze hardened. "But until my forces are firmly in control of Vector again, none of us shall leave this house."

Terra had heard enough. She flexed a gloved hand and called the power forth.

"-You will not be harmed though. As you insinuated, it is unforgivable to attack during a meeting of peace."

Terra hesitated just before the white sheen covered her vision. It took great willpower to avoid visibly morphing.

Norris did not seem to know what his most powerful ally had just intended, for he had crossed his arms and returned the same deadly look that Anson had given them. "Not unless you wanted to be known as the next Kefka."

His words, perhaps not aimed at her, still broke her will for the fight. The power receded as quickly as it had been called with a modicum of shame.

"I would like to believe there are no more men of such immorality in the upper ranks of the Empire," Anson replied. "The people could not bear such another embarrassment, nor would the army support any leader who showed such warning signs."

"And yet they supported you when you issued unacceptable demands to Alfort-Brougham," Norris growled.

"Playing the blame game now?" Anson asked with a smirk. "I suppose after knowing that your bluff has worked against you, there's nothing left but to regain a measure of dignity by insulting me verbally."

The elder Magitek Knight did not take the bait. His anger, as brief as it was, faded away.

"Remiel already had his troops mobilized long before I demanded the nobles of Albrook and her territories to support the demands of the Equality Crusade. That rescript was one long since drafted by Emperor Gestahl from his glory days, but left to gather dust when the nobility opposed him vehemently. He had neither the force of will nor the desire to break the bourgeois that were steadily strangling our Empire. His mind was always outward, never inward, and instead of repairing the growing difference between factory workers and owners, he directed our industrial capacity towards war with other countries."

"I have heard inane speeches like this before," Norris replied. He pulled out a chair and rudely sat down. "Let's just say I am unimpressed with your rhetoric, Anson, nor that of the hundreds that advocated the destruction of factories for any number of reasons. The Empire has grown strong thanks to our technology and the nobility joined by the talented factory owners that were once common folk, just like your humble origins until your ascension as the head of the Magitek Factory."

"And yet many of the common folk suffer on the streets and cannot find work outside the army. The world is unfair, but the Empire is civilization and shelters her people," Anson replied passionately. "Protection from monsters is but one thing that our government can provide. Why not help those in need? Why not give food to those who suffer on the streets? Why not provide shelter and warmth to all who are under the umbrella of the Empire? We have bent our will towards spreading civilization to other nations and now nearly the entire world bows to the might of our armies. Why can't we turn all that industrial might towards providence?"

Norris frowned at Anson's idealistic words. The bodyguards were clearly enamoured by their leader's speech.

"Because of the old guard," Anson answered his own question. "The nobility and the newly ascended business owners wish to keep their power and wealth. The House of Lords has long since strangled any movement towards equality. Fortunately, they were too frightened by what Emperor Gestahl had drawn from the darkness of the past. They turned to me, for I was popular with the army and yet without close ties to the Emperor. They thought I was a naive commoner, a tool they could use to reshape the Empire. Instead, they provided me with the powers to force the change they had feared for decades."

Anson smiled. "And when the common peoples of the Empire supported me -- when my good friend Hector Caleigh would not listen to the House's assassination orders -- they ran to Remiel Lilienthal, champion of the rich and noble."

Terra felt shivers run down her spine. Was this how the Civil War started? This was not what she had been told! Instead of a struggle between power-thirsty despots, was it an internal struggle over providing for the poor?

Could she be on the wrong side?

"You say you want to help the common people, but this war has only hurt them," Norris answered in a soft tone. It appeared the old man was attempting to fight Anson's seductive words. "Those in poverty are always first to fall to starvation, to disease and the chill of winter. Continuing the civil war has only put their lives at stake while the rich lounge comfortably far from the lines of battle."

"Revolution cannot be always bloodless, nor can I stop the avalanche I have begun. The peoples of the Core have risen. They have had enough of the nobility and the heartless bourgeois. They see Remiel Lilienthal as a dictator, and those that ally with him nothing less than exploiters of the Empire." Anson Tilton glared at Norris, still standing with his cloak open like a cape, and hammered the table with his fist. "Veterans have come to my aid and the academies overflow with volunteers for the army! The fall of Vector has only breathed fire into my people. We will retake our fallen capital and spit on those that dare strike the Empire; the New Order!"

"They forgive you for your inability to protect the hundreds of thousands in Vector?"

"I asked for their forgiveness when news arrived to me in Mansfield and they have," Anson answered sadly, diminished. His arms dropped to his sides and his cloak cascaded around him. "But they will never forgive the ruthless barbarians that have struck Fanshaw and Vector. Fire flows through the blood of the New Order and retribution will be had. That is why my forces will retake Vector, not because of our numeric superiority but because we have righteousness on our side, for you are nothing more than murderers!"

Norris shot to his feet. "We did not attack Fanshaw or Vector!" he screamed, enraged. Terra's eyes went wide; she had never seen Norris lose his temper in such a fashion.

"Your ally," Anson hissed.

"Drummond is not ours!" Norris snarled. He leaned aggressively over the table and stuck a finger in Anson's face. "I have sworn to kill the fucking Maverick with my own hands; I saw first-hand the debauchery in Fanshaw. Don't you dare think for a moment that I had anything to do with that barbaric bastard!"

Anson took a step backwards. "Calm yourself Norris, I know what happened in Fanshaw. I was not there for it but the reports were clear. But don't think for a moment that recants the sin of what you had planned to do to my hometown."

Norris' eyes went wide. He retreated a step back and bumped into his chair. "How-"

"Not everyone in Lilienthal's camp is there because they believe I am a pretender to the throne," Anson replied stoically. "There are many that believe in my cause and work against you. Or did you think that the men you had given such free reign, to think for themselves and express even contradictions to your command, were unable to see the situation beyond the sweet words of Lilienthal?"

Speechless. Terra had never thought any of Norris' men could be traitors and she was a Returner! Norris was stricken into submission; a father betrayed by his sons.

"I was merely stating the fact that Lilienthal seems to be the head of the treacherous provinces to which the nobles have fled. That the Maverick so callously snuffed out the jewel of the Empire only proves to the people how little they're cared for by the old ruling class, for who is hurt most by the loss of Vector but the million that lived and worked there? Things are even worse when one realizes that all the nobility have fled the Imperial Capital."

Norris was obviously unable to respond, his wrinkled face looked dozens of years older. Terra found herself unable to remain silent any longer though.

"If everything you say is true, then retaking the Capital will only continue the war indefinitely," Terra said, surprising everyone for until now, there had been an understanding that only the heads of their respective parties would talk. "Remiel will never back down, so you'll only continue the bloodshed that you hate so much," Terra judged Anson.

Anson frowned at her interruption, but Norris was incapable of reigning in his subordinate so Anson redirected his forceful gaze back at her. Similar to when they met initially, she returned his penetrating glare with one of her own.

"I don't believe we've met," Anson remarked.

Terra folded her arms but did not offer her name. "I don't generally speak with warmongering hypocrites," she said instead.

Anson raised an eyebrow at her rebuke. "As I said, I do not want this war to continue any longer than it must. But I cannot simply call off the war without reason. The people demand vengeance and restitution. I am simply their most vocal supporter. They lead themselves."

Terra refused to be swayed by his honeyed tongue. He had the power to stop the war, all he had to do was allow Norris to make good on his word. She didn't believe Remiel would be unreasonable, especially if Norris had returned with a treaty on his hands. The leader of Albrook had dealt with Danielle and forged an alliance there, why would it be any different with Anson?

No, this man was preventing the truce that would end the war. He pretended to want peace, but did not jump on the opportunity before him. He pretended to care for all those that had been slaughtered, but only gave orders to continue the war.

It made her blood boil.

"-They lead themselves," Anson was saying.

Terra's eyes had drifted down to the floor unwillingly as she thought of all the lives that she had seen taken. Of the ruins of Fanshaw and Vector, of the deaths she had witnessed and the struggle that she had been thrust amongst. She thought about Farin and Norris' desires, to protect and save the innocent from the horrors of war. She thought of the refugees fleeing the Core and the sea of cadavers within the Imperial Palace.

"I might be the main representative of the New Order, but I have never claimed the powers of the Emperor," Anson said. "The House of Lords gave me one title, First Citizen. That is what I continue to be, not a dictating leader, but merely a symbol of their will."

Hooded eyes were drawn to Anson, his aura unassuming but for the passion that inundated his soul. Yet he still possessed the leadership qualities that had drawn millions to follow his commands.

"A symbol that must be unmade," Terra growled in a deadly voice.

She would never fail again; to take action when decisiveness was necessary; to end the Civil War.

The white sheen took her instinctively. In an instant, great feathered wings expanded and flames swirled about an outstretched arm. Time itself bent to her will.

Magitek Knights, his protectors, her allies, too slow were any to react. They had not her power; insignificant in comparison and even the best were mere pretenders to the seraphic powers that flowed through her veins. The eldest -- the wizened Norris -- was experienced but time had eroded his reflexes, not that he would move to stop her.

Anson Tilton was frozen in surprise as she revealed herself. Fire shot forth from Terra's lithe form and blasted towards the leader of the New Order at incredible speeds.

But it was not instantaneous, and there was but an instant for him to react. It was enough for a yellow shield to appear, and even as it buckled, the combined spells of his bodyguards came to his succour.

And amidst the inferno that suddenly raged, Terra saw something she had never, in her wildest dreams, expected. In the eyes of Anson Tilton, there was neither fear nor anger. Behind the reflection of the roaring flames, there was...

There was adoration.

A second volley of fire, dozens of times fiercer and hungry for prey, had already come into existence. But instead of adding to the inferno that threatened to engulf the entire dwelling, it paused at the command of its mistress.

No one else saw those eyes, wide-open in astonishment and filled with reverence. In the crimson glare of the blaze, Terra decided to be merciful.

Even as the flames retreated, Anson Tilton had fallen to one knee. Before the smoke had vanished at Terra's command, the Magitek Knight bodyguards had done the same.

Sherwood had been in motion, twin crossbows aimed at those dangerous magic wielders. Norris had also snapped out of despondency, spells readied to add to the devastation Terra had begun. But to see their enemies fall to their knees with heads bowed was cause for even the most heartless, experienced Imperial soldier to hesitate.

Terra's blood-red eyes had never left the leader of the New Order. Her purple hair fluttered without a breeze and her feet had lifted off the ground ever so slightly. Her wings had been spread wide, almost in Sherwood's way, and the aggressiveness of her posture was not lost on Anson's remaining upright colleagues. The soldier and the young boy had both stepped back, gawking openly at Terra's change and their leader's submissive stance.

"Sophis," Anson whispered.

That word. She had heard it before. "Explain yourself," her authoritative voice seemed to echo in the sullen air.

Still head bowed and eyes on the floor, Anson spoke reverently. "My Sophis, forgive me! We had no idea you had already descended! The books; they had said your coming would not be for decades!"

Beside her, Norris had backed up several paces. He seemed unperturbed, not a hint of surprise was on his face.

Terra coldly noted his apprehension; but this was not the time for an inquisition. "And yet I am already here," she glowered at Anson's kneeling form.

"Please forgive my insolence, Lady Goddess! We have worked for decades to prepare for your arrival. We would never dream of harming you!"

"Look at me," Terra demanded. She did not understand what was happening, but...

Anson's eyes looked up. They were subdued and humble dark globes that told Terra one, undeniable truth.

Anson Tilton worshipped her.

"Who is this 'we'?" Terra asked. The aggression in her voice had faded away, she was confused but willing to play the role that the leader of the New Order had seemed to think of her.

"The Loyalists, my Goddess," Anson replied in a half-panic. "Since the end of the War of the Magi, we descendents of Mage Warriors have worked in secret to prepare civilization for your return. Though I fear that the ancient texts were not as accurate as we believed."

"You..." Terra struggled to speak the word, the sound of it was so preposterous. "You worship me?"

"Everyday of my life," Anson whispered. "There are few of us remaining, and none still with the abilities that had been blessed upon us. But in the recent years, that has changed! These two," he gestured to the two Magitek Knights on their knees, "they are of the proper descent. Forgive the insolence of the rest; they are not as devoted as we."

Terra's bloodlust had all but disappeared. She looked at Norris, whose suspicious expression told her that she had not gone crazy. This was indeed happening.

She, Terra Branford, was being worshipped by the leader of the New Order. Anson Tilton, a man whose intellect had given him vast political powers, whose charisma and foresight had made him popular beyond imagination within the Imperial Core, this man had thrown aside all dignity to grovel at her feet.

To be honest, Terra found it flattering.

"You say you're devoted to me, but you reject the peace that I came here to forge," Terra said. She briefly wondered whether she should revert, but quickly discarded the notion.

Anson visibly swallowed. "I had not realized it was you. I didn't think-"

"What about now? Will you prove your devotion by walking along the road to peace?" Terra interrupted, her voice still echoing of its own accord in the heavy air.

Anson frowned. "I did not lie, Sophis. I cannot stop the armies; they would merely find another capable of delivering speeches to take my place."

Terra folded her arms. "That is unacceptable. I have had enough of this war. It has claimed too many lives!" she growled angrily. Her voice echoed menacingly in the small room.

Had Anson not been on his knees, surely he would have taken a step back. Instead, his face was ashen. "It's possible," he stammered. "It could be possible to stop the battle for Vector, but without concessions from Lilienthal and Meras-" Anson took the opportunity to glare at Norris. I know about your secret alliance, he said without words.

The two Magitek Knights still kneeling shifted uncomfortably. Terra quickly motioned for them to stand again, and Anson took to his feet the moment she gestured.

"-without at least a total ceasefire," the leader of the New Order continued, "guarantee of amnesty for all troops, halting of military activity and official apologizes for the crimes of the Civil War, not to mention recognition of the Equality Rescript, I don't think I could keep the armies from beginning the war with another leader."

Terra frowned. She looked at Norris.

"Those demands are insane," the elder Magitek Knight said. He had recovered from all the surprises as well as could be expected. "At the very least, we are not even in constant communication with General Meras. I can't guarantee what she would do when given such a haughty ultimatum."

"What can you do, Norris?" Terra growled. She didn't like the way he was avoiding the topic.

Norris' brow furrowed in thought. "Cessation of military activities, war crimes ignored, apologizes extended if those of the New Order are willing to do the same. I can promise that much, though certainly not on General Meras' part."

"That's unacceptable," Anson said. Terra glared at him and he quickly qualified his statement. "Listen, you can't expect some two-hundred thousand soldiers to put down their weapons when half the enemy forces won't promise to do the same!"

"General Danielle Meras will agree to a ceasefire," Terra declared. Both Norris and Anson looked at her in bewilderment. "I speak for her," she explained.

"I didn't think you were that good of friends with General Starson," Norris grumbled under his breath.

"If the Sophis says so, then I am willing to begin preliminary negotiations," Anson stated. He ignored Norris' expression. "Recognition of the Equality Rescript could be delayed until both Generals are here, but official apologizes, excommunication of the Maverick, in addition to declaration of him and his followers Domus Proditor, those must be immediate."

"Domus Proditor?" Terra echoed.

"Something only the Emperor can do," Norris explained with a wrinkled frown. "It officially brands one a traitor to his homeland."

"It would be legitimate so long as our Triumvirate agrees," Anson pointed out. "This leads me to the next point, that until official negotiations, there will be a loose coupling of leadership through a council between our three leaders."

"You would cede the majority to an alliance that is already in place?" Norris asked.

"It would only be for, at most, a month. And I would not think that during that short time, much more than humanitarian aid would be discussed. Vector is in ruins and the people require the full support of our armies in order to survive through the winter."

Norris nodded. He mumbled to himself, quickly going through all of Anson's terms.

"I believe we have a truce," Terra interjected before more demands were made and things became unreasonable.

Norris's gaze drifted from the handsome visage of Anson Tilton to the pale skin, feathered wings and glowing crimson eyes of Terra Branford, and then back to the man that had symbolized the rise of the New Order and beginning of the Civil War. "It seems like that," he said. "Though we will have to act fast to prevent another conflict in Vector. After that, I will need to return to speak with my Generals immediately."

All eyes turned to Anson.

"I will leave now to halt the Fourth Army," he stammered. "With your blessing, Sophis?"

Terra nodded.

Anson Tilton pointed at the lone female bodyguard. "Catherine, you will tend to the Sophis. Tell her everything she wishes to know, I will be back by nightfall." He turned back to Terra, his gaze softening instantly. "No amount of delving into the annals of the past could have prepared me for this day. Since the moment I was born, I have been waiting for your arrival."

Terra Branford's feet slowly touched the ground. Her purple hair stopped fluttering the breeze that wasn't there, and her wings were drawn protectively inward. Glowing crimson eyes judged Anson Tilton.

"Thank you, my Goddess," his demeanour was nothing short of reverent. "You have stopped the Civil War."

!-- 14841 words, 30 pages --


	16. Daybreak

**The Sixteenth Chapter - Daybreak**

"You're right Sabin," Siana whispered incredulously. They were both hidden from sight beneath the underbrush, snow drifting off the top of her hood as she examined the wagons. They were halted on the road, three in total, but one had veered into a ditch. "It must have lost a wheel," she analyzed. "The icy dirt road did the rest."

Sabin laid beside her upon his belly, his face an emotionless mask. Siana had deferred to his expertise more and more as the weeks had passed. His background in the wilderness was superior to hers; and his ability to cobble tasty meals from what he foraged was more than enough to earn her eternal gratitude. But most importantly, without him, she would have been dead thrice over.

The martial-artist, only slightly diminished in stature from his incarceration, had tended to her for weeks while she regained her strength. He had raided abandoned cabin after cabin for the few items he could not find in the deep of winter, such as medicinal herbs that had brought down a nasty fever. Finally, she had recouped enough of her former strength for them to travel together. They headed north; Sabin believed they had been south of Pierpoint and neither desired to be near civilization.

The world had gone crazy, after all.

"I see children," Sabin growled in a deadly tone.

Siana nodded gravely. She could see at least two young, innocent kids that were chained inside the furthest covered wagon. They were barely clothed, thin from malnourishment and huddled together for warmth. Several guards were nearby... Imperial only in uniform. Siana felt no sense of camaraderie; never again would brown-leather be a comforting sight. "We need to do something," she whispered.

Both of them knew that this was a caravan destined for the Patrician and his damned Guild. For the past week, they had crossed paths with many a soldier, and not one of them had claimed loyalty to anything but the Guild.

The thought of those children going through what she had... Siana felt the bile rise in her throat. "Quickly Sabin! We're lucky enough that the wagon broke down. They'll have the wheels replaced in a couple of minutes, and we can't abandon those kids."

"Wait," Sabin whispered. He gestured. "That one, with the long brown hair leaning against the back-wagon. Do you see him?"

Siana brushed aside a naked branch and looked closer. "What about him?"

"Magitek Knight," Sabin growled. "An inexperienced one."

Siana narrowed her eyes and tried to make out details. "Him? He's not wearing grey robes, those sashes, or anything that else that might stand out. How can you tell?"

"He dies first."

The tone of Sabin's voice was chilling and despite the lack of evidence, there was no reason to believe he was wrong. For the last few weeks, Sabin had been eerily correct in identifying magical threats. The last time she questioned him, they had ambushed a messenger who had seemed too innocent and naive to be so dangerous. But the fireball taught her otherwise and Sabin had just barely managed to save her.

She knew he was right. It was just unnerving.

"Fine," she pulled out a hunting bow they had found in an abandoned cabin. Her archery had suffered since the days of the academy, but she did more good with a dozen arrows than with her knives. And unless they found a derelict Magitek Armor, it was doubtful she could be more helpful. "What about the others? Can we let them go?" she glanced over hopefully. But Sabin's attention remained focused on the convoy, his hands idly tracing patterns into the snow.

This would be the fourth group of soldiers they had ambushed as they made their way towards the sea and away from both the Imperial Core and Pierpoint. While the largest numerically, Siana doubted they were in any danger. The magical threat was already identified, and the rest were hapless grunts. Surely there was no harm in letting them go.

Sabin had disappeared beneath the underbrush to sneak closer; his silence was answer enough. Siana sighed as loudly as she thought it was safe, waiting for a signal to attack. She wished there was another way. She wished... she wished she didn't have to kill her own people; even if they had gone mad.

Then came a loud cracking noise that drew everyone's attention. Siana gaped at the massive, multi-story tree toppling over.

How did Sabin do that without an axe?

Turning to the situation at hand, the battle quickly became a slaughter. Siana's arrows found two marks by the time Sabin snuck behind and killed the Magitek Knight. The tree rolled down the hill and smashed into the rearmost wagon, sending the group of soldiers scattering. Siana picked off another soldier while Sabin ran through the chaos, his fists and feet flying as he dispatched everyone in sight.

A dozen men were dead before the snow had settled. Siana strolled past the broken tree and pulverized wagon with a paranoid look. Sabin was rushing to the children, ensuring their safety above all else, but she had an equally important job.

Siana knelt down near the corpse of the Magitek Knight. His neck was snapped, eyes still wide-open in surprise. The Imperial Emblem upon his collar was soaked with blood. He was definitely dead.

"Barbarian," Siana spat. She wiped her eyes of the unexpected tears. Reassuring herself that they were doing the right thing, she rifled through the dead Magitek Knight's pockets, picking out a folded piece of parchment along with a ring of keys. She opened the note, but it was just a mundane list of supplies.

Sabin had already been freeing the children from their chains, but looked relieved when Siana tossed him the keys. One knee hit the snow as he unlocked the bindings on all five kids.

"Hey there," Siana forced a smile when one of the children ran up to her. She was no more than nine years old and threw her thin little arms around Siana's waist. "It's alright, you're safe now."

"They came from a village called Dorset," Sabin announced. A boy, maybe six years of age, sat on his broad shoulders. "That's the name, right Ben?" Sabin grinned when the kid nodded so rapidly he almost fell off.

"Thanks for saving us, Miss," the oldest girl said politely. She was wearing the tattered remains of a dress, shaking from the cold, but still wore a relieved smile despite all the wounds.

"You're welcome," Siana replied. "You can call me Siana," she introduced herself as she looked around for clothes. "The big lug over there is Sabin."

"I'm Linda," she pointed at the girl holding on to Siana. "That's my sister, and that's Ben, and-"

"Linda," Sabin interrupted. "What happened here? Did these men take you from Dorset?"

Linda nodded.

"They made mommy cry," Ben added from atop of Sabin's shoulders.

"They hurt grandpa!"

"Daddy tried to stop them, but they had swords!"

Siana had found a pile of winter cloaks that the soldiers had kept; though they were far too big, they would do. As she handed them out, she exchanged a look with Sabin. He nodded back, they had committed to this the moment they decided to free the children.

"Linda, do you know the way to Dorset?" Siana asked softly. She had never heard of the village, it couldn't have been anything remotely sizable in this corner of the world.

Linda nodded. "Me and daddy used to come down this road every week, to visit my uncle in the big city."

"Then show us the way," Sabin said. He hoisted Ben higher on his massive shoulders. "We'll take you back home."

---

It was Terra's second time in a carriage. Her first taste of the nobility's lifestyle had been as Remiel Lilienthal's escort. Unlike that time, now she was thankful for the luxury. They would be late otherwise and had they have ridden upon chocobos, she couldn't have enjoyed the company that she was with.

Anson Tilton sat across from her, watching the frozen landscape roll by as he thought of an answer. While the two had grown accustomed to each other's presence, there was still a slight awkwardness between them. All too often, Anson deferred to her in embarrassingly dramatic ways. With no small amount of effort, he had finally stopped kneeling and bowing his head when conversing with her. She had even gotten him to address her by her name, sometimes.

If there was ever suspicion of duplicity, now there was none.

"Well?" Terra pressed for an answer.

Anson sighed. "You're asking for the impossible. It's hard enough to explain the politics of the House of Lords when given plenty of time, much less with scant minutes before we arrive. You'll just have to accept that this is the way it is."

Terra frowned. "I still don't understand why Emperor Gestahl could bend the Empire to do whatever he wished without thinking of the consequences, and yet now we can't even sign a truce -- something in everyone's best interest -- without a circle of military leaders and this House of Lords getting involved."

"Emperor Gestahl was so powerful he didn't really need the title. His popularity is still without comparison, and he had such clout amongst both nobility and army personnel that opposition was unthinkable. Certainly you saw how easily he committed to a treaty with the Northern Continent; with little more than his word, he gave up territorial gains and made reparations," Anson rubbed the dark circles beneath his eyes.

"Anyhow, it's not the entire House, just the Duke of Mansfield," Anson pointed out with a wisp of a smile. "Really, you should be glad that it's just him. He's the most powerful of all the nobility and was Speaker of the House during their last session, a couple weeks before the Civil War broke out. He is more than just a figurehead," he finished with a quiet chuckle.

Terra's brow furrowed. "I think I've met him," she mused.

A raised eyebrow. "Really? You surprise me everyday, my Godd-"

"Terra," she interrupted with a frown.

Anson cleared his throat. "Lady Terra," he corrected embarrassingly, but with no less reverence.

Terra sighed loudly. She glared at the First Citizen of the Empire, beyond popular throughout the Imperial Core and just as intelligent. Anson Tilton had lost little of his authority in the days that had passed since a temporary peace accord had been declared. He was still the leader of the New Order, the most powerful faction of the divided Empire.

And he was hers to command.

Terra was still stunned by all that had transpired in the last few weeks. First seeing Vector a broken shell of its past, nothing like the dark fortress that had imprisoned her for sixteen years of her life. Then the peace she had forced upon three factions of the Empire. She had been ready to kill Anson Tilton, but instead he offered her everything she ever wanted, and more.

There had been little dissent from Danielle Meras or Remiel Lilienthal. Both Generals had agreed to the cessation of hostilities quicker than any had predicted. Norris had expressed his surprise to Terra, confiding in her that it had almost been too easy. Terra assumed the old Colonel had leaned heavily on Karen, who had pressured Remiel to accept the temporary truce. Knowing the relationship between Norris and Karen, as well as the Major-General's sovereignty over Remiel's armies, it was an acceptable stretch of the imagination.

But Terra agreed that Danielle's ready acceptance had been worrying. It had been unnecessary to speak with Farin or seek a private audience with the female General. Letters carried by messenger birds were all that had been required to convince Danielle to lay down her arms. That seemed ludicrous.

But no action had been seen in the past month. Even if Danielle's forces still held their military gains, the lack of warfare was all that mattered to Terra. Perhaps even Imperial Generals could tire of bloodshed. The world prayed that this was the case.

"Are you going to lay down your powers today?" Terra asked.

It was an important day in Imperial history, for two warring Generals and the First Citizen would meet and prepare the foundation of a permanent treaty. Peace, at last! It had been hard-fought, but the future would be no less of a struggle. Guiding the Empire down its chosen path would test every fibre of her soul. The temporary truce was a delicate affair, only held together by a collection of will between herself, Anson and Norris.

What would happen when both eccentric Generals and their factions congregated? Would ambition for power plunge the Imperial world back into Civil War?

No! Terra would not permit it.

Anson's soft brown eyes locked with Terra. It was something he often did when he knew she would disagree with what he had to say.

"I do not intend to abdicate."

Terra sighed, but she had already guessed that would be his answer. In Anson's eyes, she could see that he was shamed of his inability to acquiesce. That knowledge eased her burden slightly, for at least she knew he did not desire power.

He was First Citizen because in the hands of anyone else, that title would only cause more bloodshed.

"I doubt I'm the only one whose has given thought to killing you in order to end this war," Terra pointed out. "Of course you're right though, our journeys together have been more enough to discourage me of such naiveté."

Terra had spent the last month visiting the New Order's holdings in the Imperial Core. She had travelled with Anson far and wide, from the city of Mansfield to the armies locked in the chaotic stalemate that was Maley's Point, and the First Citizen was always received with joy and celebration. He was highly respected by millions; be they man or woman, civilian or solider. They hung onto his every word, adoring all that he said and following in his footsteps.

The First Citizen of the Empire, leader of the New Order, had halted the war with impassioned speeches. Hundreds of thousands of soldiers thirsting for revenge -- to avenge the monstrous slaughter of Fanshaw and the horrendous rape of Vector -- had to be convinced that peace was best; that further fighting would only invite more grievances. It had not been an easy task.

Anson focused on the concessions given. The cease-fires and humanitarian aid sowed the seeds of trust. Supplies were flowing from the outer provinces and several regiments of the New Order had already begun distribution. Shelter was being erected for the survivors of Vector, food was handed out to those starving, and pacification squads deployed to deal with the growing monster threat. But even riding on the surge of popular support, Anson had to make deals with his own Generals, promised the improbable in his speeches and sometimes deceive in order to convince his followers that a truce was in their best interests.

"I have always been truthful in your presence, Lady."

Terra looked up and down the man who commanded the New Order. A smile touched her face. Anson could look so regal upon his chocobo while he delivered speeches -- with the aura of a king and twice the authority -- but yet he always regarded her with so much respect and admiration. Without his surprising allegiance, it was doubtful that the Imperial Civil War could have been halted without further devastation. Perhaps battles and sieges leading to the loss of Mansfield, one of the few unsullied jewels of the Empire, might have brought the New Order to the bargaining table. Yet if it came to that, internal strife would plague the questionable unified Imperial government for decades.

"While we're both harping on how we met, I should apologize," Terra offered. She held out a hand to stop Anson from interrupting. "I had no idea what kind of madness had gripped the New Order. A part of me always believed that everyone desired peace, that no one really wanted war. I assumed that the citizens of the Empire wanted nothing more than to be happy and safe... but I never met them."

Terra sighed and ran a hand through her long grey hair. "I never asked what they wanted," she lamented. "I should have talked to them, like what we've done in the past month. I should have gone out there, used my magic to heal as many as I could and asked them what they wanted. Instead, I just assumed I knew what was best."

"You do know what's best," Anson stated flatly. "From basic analysis made by my finest advisors, the damages of the Civil War have already set the Empire back by decades. Years of technological progress has been lost with the total destruction of the Magitek Labs and the economy itself only functions thanks to the military. Further warfare once my forces took back Vector would have crushed any hope of a truce. There would have been permanent conflict between factions of the Empire, steadily order would have disappeared, centuries of advancement erased, and the eventual resurgence of petty kingdoms warring over scraps. A new age of darkness, my Lady; that is what you have singly prevented."

His words warmed her heart. "Anson, you're flattering me again."

"It's simply the truth," Anson replied. "Scholars warned me of the risks, but I was too busy holding the reins of the bloodthirsty millions. Our sciences had already predicted the dark outcome, but I didn't have the force of will to fight my own people. I became First Citizen to ensure their wishes were met, not to become a dictator myself and ignore their voices. Yet sometimes, one must draw the line."

"But where?" Terra asked. "I want peace for everybody, but the people don't. They want war-"

"Lady, governance is not an easy thing. There are no hard and fast rules. Everything is situational and what's best for the people may not be what they desire."

"That sounds like something Gestahl might have said before invading Doma," Terra grumbled.

Anson cast a long, distressed look at the woman he followed. He decided to try a different tactic. "A sovereign is solely responsible for their own actions. Their strength will be reflected in their followers. This is why a ruler must be just and righteous, and these are things that stem from the self. I believe in you because you are moral, because you care for all. Please stop doubting what you have done. Through your decisive actions, millions will be saved."

"Decisive action," Terra echoed. "Well, maybe you wouldn't be so quick to declare I know what's best. I thought if I decisively... eliminated you, that the New Order would collapse and magically become peaceful," she wet her lips. "Now, I can easily imagine what would have really happened if you were no longer around: the New Order would have continued, maybe accelerated, its aggressive posturing and we would have been at a loss to find anyone with the authority to end the war."

"Sophis," Anson used the most authoritative title that Terra did not oppose -- mainly because its meaning was so obscure -- and put a hand upon her knee. "You are not omnipotent. As an Avatar of the Goddess-"

"Anson, how many times have we gone through this? Your Goddess does not exist anymore, the War of the Magi saw to that conclusion. As well, I have not been sent here by any deity, I've seen them and they're in no position to change the course of history!" Terra growled in frustration.

"Yes, the Statues that you speak of," Anson beamed with confidence. "Honestly Sophis, did you truly believe that Gods would seal themselves away so completely? That they would give up on creation after warring with each other and putting their own livelihoods at stake? The Gods will return. That you have recently met their personifications only proves that you are chosen to represent their will."

Terra's frown became more pronounced. "Anson, I don't feel this special."

"You are a half-Esper, an unheard of miracle. It's not even biologically sound! Your very existence is proof enough of deific intervention."

"I've heard this before, it was the same reasoning that brought the Returners before the Sealed Gate of Esperkind and led to their subjugation by Kefka," Terra recanted with dread. "We thought we were saving the world, but instead we caused so many deaths. I never want to make that mistake again."

"You are still young, Sophis, and you cannot do everything yourself. This is why the Loyalists exist, to serve and empower you. For now, you need education and knowledge to guide the Empire on the right path. That is why I am here, to advise you and provide all the necessary information for your instincts to make the correct decisions. Though few, we are the shadow beneath your eminence."

He leaned closer to her, so that she could smell the light scent of herbs in his hair. "In time, you will no longer need my guidance in order to usher in the next age. When that day comes, you will know it. Politics will become another tool that you command effortlessly, just like the grandeur that is your magic. Until that day, I am honoured to be your servant."

Charmed speechless, Terra smiled weakly.

Anson leaned back, breaking the connection between them. "You should not be so nervous," he said in a softer, kinder tone. "Armed with only the understanding you gleamed from Colonel Ferdinand and his soldiers, you were well on the path to ending the Civil War. Now Norris is no mere flunky, but I wouldn't say he is a veteran of the political arena. That you did so much with so little is testament to your abilities."

Terra nodded. "As always, you flatter me. I wish I trusted myself as much as you do."

"I was raised as your servant," Anson explained. "I admit I have had crises of faith at times; ancient prophecies from the War of the Magi suggested that you would appear in my lifetime. When I read those passages myself, it always smelt of deceit. A thousand years in the future, so far ahead in time that the alleged prophets would long be dead and the benefit they gained from their followers irreversible. My parents, before they passed away, always seemed to be fanatical. Our life in Fanshaw was tough and to believe that we were chosen to guide a Goddess-" he averted his eyes from Terra's angry glare for using that word, "-into our world really seemed delusional. Instead of praying at an altar, I devoted much of my life to science and engineering, building up a reputation for being dependable and securing prestige that no commoner could ever dream. I suppose my beliefs sometimes run counter to my work..."

"I don't even know if I believe you," Terra interrupted.

"Well I believe, and even more so with every passing day. And we Loyalists are not alone. Have you missed the looks you have been given?"

Terra's brow furrowed. "What do you mean by that?"

"In nearly every village we visited, the children adored you. Their parents smiled for the first time in months thank to your arrival."

"Anson, that was because I was curing sickness and tending to the injured. We also arrived with food and soldiers to help build shelters," Terra frowned. "They flocked to me because it was probably the first time they had seen the kinder side of magic, not because they thought I was the personification of a Goddess. And need I remind you how scared they were of my spell-craft originally? Most of the Imperial Core is scared to death of magic! That they didn't lynch me was only because of your presence."

Anson shook his head. "That, my Lady, is a perversion of the truth."

Through the curtain-covered windows, one could see tents pass by the hundreds. They had almost arrived.

"The people didn't care when I asked them to support peace. They only wanted revenge and praised soldiers for striking down the barbarians that sacked Vector. They didn't listen to me. How could I be this Sophis if I can't even convince a little boy that war is bad?"

Anson folded his arms. Not once had his faith been shaken, he always had an answer to her questions. "My Lady, as I have said, you are not yet prepared for politics. Worry not about the common folk. They will follow as long as someone shows them the way."

"I want to help them achieve their dreams, not force them to do as I wish," Terra growled. "I want to help them all, and every time I talk to them, every time I-"

The carriage had come to a halt, so they both knew their conversation had to come to an end. Anson interrupted her with an apologetic expression. "It is your kindness that is both strength and weakness. You want to give people everything they desire, going so far as to spend weeks speaking to them and using your powers to heal a select few."

He pointed outside at the masses.

"But you must never forget that there are millions more out there. While it is always important to find out what each person wants, you must never forget that their needs will always conflict with each other. What is good for one may not be good for many."

The door opened and the thinly shaven head of Catherine, Anson's Magitek Knight Bodyguard and one of the few Loyalists, nodded respectfully at both her superiors. A clairvoyant woman, she was quiet but quite capable. Catherine donned a thick, form-fitting dark leather lorica that was made from many individual segments. Twin short swords were strapped by the hip and from her belt hung several strange looking crossbow bolts.

Anson took a step out of the carriage, but quickly turned back. "Follow your heart, my Sophis," he added. "Today, we are three seals away from ending the Civil War because of your instincts. Tomorrow... who knows?"

---

First Citizen Anson Tilton and Lady Terra Branford could go nowhere without an honour guard. They were both equally renowned, especially since rumours of Terra's involvements had become wide-spread. Without any supporting evidence, it was said that Terra was one of Emperor Gestahl's greatest agents. Upon the mighty leader's death, many presumed Terra's return had forced Danielle Meras and Remiel Lilienthal to set aside their grudges and work together. They said that she foresaw the destruction of Fanshaw and Vector and had struggled to reunite the Empire against the barbarian. When it was clear that was not enough, she had personally sought the First Citizen's aid and persuaded him to end the war.

That there was not a shred of evidence was unnecessary. A hero was desired; someone that had remained neutral throughout the war; someone that had been seen beside the august Emperor Gestahl; someone who had friends in all three factions of the divided Empire.

Her magic and deep connection to the Espers was a forgiven and forgotten fact.

Terra was most often seen with Anson, and that only bolstered her credibility. For the New Order, they saw her as their beloved First Citizen's close confident; for the factions under Meras and Lilienthal, a friend that held the leash of the pretender. Rumours conflicted wildly at times, mostly due to the opposing feelings the people of the Empire held for Anson Tilton. However, the end result was the same. Whether as an extension of Anson Tilton, Danielle Meras, or Remiel Lilienthal, the half-Esper was seen as the principle reason that the Civil War had ended.

There was cheering and roars of approval as she strode through the Imperial Camp. That they were headed through an area that was, in large, populated by troops loyal to Danielle did not dim the applause. Anson had a sly smile on his face at this, causing Terra's face to briefly go red in embarrassment.

At the centre of the Imperial Camp stood a giant tent surrounded by Imperial soldiers, Magitek Armors, and several Magitek Knights in ceremonial garb; all three factions had sent their finest. There, waiting for them, was a red-haired woman in plain leather armor with a weathered green cloak draped over the shoulders. She had heard the uproar and knew exactly who amongst their high-powered guests had arrived.

General Danielle Meras smiled.

They exchanged quick pleasantries for the benefit of those watching. Handshakes and salutes to the heart between General Meras and First Citizen Tilton caused a rupture of applause. It was the end of the Civil War: no more fighting former comrades, no more bloodshed in the homeland, no more war!

The centre tent was neutral ground, only a few soldiers were there and few were armed. Each officer had been allowed a single armed escort, Anson had Catherine and Danielle had...

Terra frowned. "Baldric?"

The statue nodded.

Danielle gestured to the seats surrounding a large circular table. Terra surmised that the shape had been chosen specifically to avoid having anyone sit at the head. Anson took a chair only after Terra, settling down politely and pulling out various folders of pertinent materials for the historic day.

"I have to admit, it's a pleasure to see you here, Terra," Danielle said as her fingers thrummed against the thin table.

Terra's eyes met Danielle's. It had been a long time since they had last spoken and Terra did not intend on allowing the female General to gain the upper hand. Things had changed greatly since they were captured in Tzen.

"It has been a long time, Danielle," Terra answered with a smile. "Forgive me if I am so direct, but there is something of grave importance I wish to inquire before business commences. Is Relm truly safe with Sir Cyan Garamonde?"

Terra caught a flash of surprise on Danielle's face. Without a doubt the General had not expected diplomatic deportment from a woman that had last broken down into tears from a few hard questions. Terra mentally thanked Lindsay -- Remiel's seamstress and her teacher -- as well as Anson for his preparatory explanations.

"I suppose you want to hear it from me instead of just reading a message delivered by bird?" Danielle asked.

"It would warm my heart," Terra announced with a nod. She wanted to hear Danielle say the words herself, rather than read something penned by her many subordinates.

"Very well, indeed Cyan Garamonde has left with Relm. He denied the privilege of an escort and left for the north. General Starson personally oversaw the exchange; he said it went without any issue and was friendly all-around. Your darling Relm is safely with your friends."

Terra gaze lingered on Danielle for a moment, wondering whether she could really be trusted. A favour from Norris had ended in a communiqué from Danielle stating the fortuitous news: that Cyan had left with Relm already. Terra wanted to believe the message, but that had been difficult. Yet as always, there was no reason for the red-haired General to lie. Danielle had nothing to gain by holding onto Relm; and Terra knew Edgar and Cyan would have stopped at nothing to get Strago's granddaughter back.

With a sigh of relief, the burden was finally lifted from her shoulders. The last few months in the Imperial Core had been without a clear conscience, Relm was never far from her mind and Terra felt responsible for Strago's granddaughter. She would thank Farin later; indeed it was his personal oversight that made Terra confident in Danielle's truthfulness. Terra doubted the General knew of her subordinate's promise.

"Where might be General Starson?" Terra asked. There were only two people she wanted to see this day: Farin and Remiel. It had been ages since she had spoken with Leo's friend, and she wanted to see the look on the latter's face; to know that he was wrong about her and magic's place in the world.

"Farin is late, as is General Lilienthal. But we still have an hour before the meeting officially begins," Danielle stopped tapping on the table. Her relaxed gaze settled on Anson. "First Citizen, I don't believe we've met."

The tent seemed a tad colder.

"Just Anson, please."

"Danielle, likewise."

There was animosity in the room no matter what kind of sugar-coated words were used. Terra had dreaded this day knowing it would stretch her patience and require all her skills.

"It's unfortunate that we didn't meet," Anson surmised. "I suppose it was just bad luck, your assignment in Tzen was not positioned towards the research and development of technology. As for myself, I did not enter the public eye until very recently."

"The Aegis is a remarkable invention, simple yet effective," Danielle connected Anson to his display of engineering prowess. "It is a compliment to the Empire."

"From the pilot of the Crimson Armor, that is praise to be cherished," Anson replied. "Your achievements a decade ago might have faded from public memory, but in a few months, you made up for years of idling in Tzen."

Danielle's tone darkened, though her face retained a fake, cheerful disposition. "Today is not a day for accusations. We have a common enemy, the Maverick, so let's forgive the sins of the past as you requested. Or perhaps I should remind you of your reprehensible actions towards the nobility before they managed to find sanctuary?"

Terra frowned. Anson had admitted to her that the nobles had suffered during his reign; that they had to flee after the people rose against them for their opposition to the Equality Crusade. She didn't press the issue, but perhaps she should have. There was still so much she didn't know.

Anson folded his arms. "This will be a long day if we decide to pass around blame. I apologize, the proscriptions were without merit."

The room became very chilly with that accursed word.

"Without merit? Is that all you have to say when pressed about the state-sanctioned murder of innocent and loyal peoples of the Empire? That you stripped them of citizenship, took their estate, put a price on their heads and then displayed those trophies within the Imperial Forum; all of that was nothing more than an oversight? Do you know what you put those families through? The Mansfields? The Driscolls? The Cassidies?"

Danielle's tone had grown very deadly at that moment, but it was clear that Anson could have retorted equally. Yet instead, he only bowed his head. "You're correct, and I am sorry. But let us move on to more pressing concerns, such as the criminal Maverick Waldgrave, and put the past behind us."

Before the female General could retort, another entered their high-powered circle. Shoulder-length brown hair framed a wrinkled face, prematurely aged from the stress of the past months. Major-General Karen Alysworth entered with little ceremony. Remiel Lilienthal's military figurehead and brilliant strategist looked exhausted.

"General Lilienthal has been delayed by an hour," Karen explained. "He sent me in his place, for now, to show no disrespect. I would have been here sooner, but a certain newly promoted Major-General wanted my opinion on stratagems."

Danielle smiled warmly. "General Alysworth, it has been a long time."

Anson gestured. "Please, take a seat."

"I take it that Farin was the source of your delay?" Danielle asked. When Karen nodded after taking her seat, Danielle's grin widened. "I guess he's looking for advice from the best"  
Terra stood up. All three Imperials looked at her.

"I think it would be best if business was to wait," she explained. "Since Remiel is late, I would like to take this opportunity to speak with General Starson."

Nods from all around the table. "I don't see a problem with that," Danielle said with a quick tap of the finger.

"Catherine," Anson gestured and the Magitek Knight saluted.

Terra slipped out of the tent -- holding the fabric aside for Catherine to slip through as well -- and was relieved to be away from the tension. She pulled her hood over her head, hopefully hiding the grey locks that soldiers had become good at spotting. With a forced smile to let Anson's bodyguard know all was fine, she set off to find Farin.

---

Commodore Douglas Pellyn rubbed his eyes in frustration. It was another one of those days; just a few hours had passed since he had arrived at port, but his patience was already exhausted by the long-winded Admiralty. Had they been remotely competent, perhaps he could have tolerated their antics. However, their continual second-guessing of battlefield decisions despite their nigh-uniform lack of experience was absolutely infuriating.

His flagship sat in the calm waters, docked outside South Figaro along with the rest of his fleet. They would have to make sail again. The men would not be happy that they were to leave so soon after their last deployment, but they needed to be relocated to a more strategically sound location. The Commodore wiped the sweat from his brow and glared at the maps of his country. Perhaps if he stared long enough, answers would magically appear.

There was a thump outside his door. Douglas was not one to typically care for such noise, but he was irritated and that was enough for him.

"You there!" he shouted as he threw open the wooden door to his cabin. Slouched over due to the low ceilings, his eyes narrowed in suspicion when there was no one to be seen. While the majority of his crew had gone ashore to celebrate their good fortune, it still felt eerily quiet.

"Marine!" Douglas ordered. He waited a few moments and heard rhythmic footsteps down the hall. Douglas didn't recognize the soldier, but that was expected given the shuffling of personnel as soon as they docked in South Figaro. "I want the guard on this deck doubled."

"As you command, sir!"

Douglas closed the door and locked it. Paranoia was a natural reaction given the situation, he reassured himself. After all... a glance at the maps spread out upon his desk, charts piled above that and various nautical instruments strewn about; including an aging sextant. Prominent above the mess were several reports with the seal of His Majesty.

An Imperial Fleet; Douglas shook his head and sighed as he sat back down. None of the Admirals had believed him when just three months ago, he had asserted that the Imperials could strike at anytime. They had laughed at him! Now they came crawling back after losing three battleships. Three! With a numerical advantage and full reports on the enemy's movements, they had suffered as badly as they forces they claimed victory over. If the Captains of those vessels had survived, Douglas would have personally flogged them before the fleet.

"Two battleships," Douglas mumbled. It was perplexing. The force was too small to be a credible threat, but too big for it to be a mere scouting mission, written off if things went sour. But what could the Imperials be planning? Could they have kept an even larger force farther out to sea? Yet it had been over a month since the Imperials had tried anything since their highly dubious attempt to rake the coast. Surely their supplies were getting low, unless there were traitors amongst the Figarian Navy.

Understandably, the Admiralty wanted someone in command with proven experience even if he was politically inconvenient. But Commodore Pellyn was not a man to simply integrate any and all vessels into his fleet. His was a cohesive unit; he trusted each and every commander under his thumb. But this rag-tag band of barely-christened ships that called itself the Home Fleet...

Their battleship compliment had been shamed. A Vice-Admiral was at the bottom of the ocean. And then there were the reports from the rest of Home Fleet -- from the smallest sloop to the most prestigious cruiser -- that were so pompous they were likely worthless. More propaganda than an after-action report, Douglas scoffed. Damn the aristocrats and their bought commissions.

Even more damning, the entire fleet had complied with the King's latest directive, despite the barbarism of such an order! The number of executions had been so high that only verified officers had been given public hangings, the rest had simply been slaughtered in the water or left to die.

"Ludicrous," he growled. "The world has gone insane and now they're handing me the reins. What do they expect of me, a miracle?"

His train of thought was broken by an insistent knock on the door. "Yes, come in!" he shouted. Then he mentally chided himself, the bolt was still in place.

It was the marine from before and there was another beside him. "Commodore, we doubled the guard as you asked, but there was something else that requires your attention."

"Well? Out with it!" Douglas was in no mood for dramatics.

"We caught a spy, sir, on deck," the marine explained.

Douglas' brow furrowed. "A spy?" he echoed. "That's absurd."

"Yes sir, an old man too. We've got him in irons; do you want us to take him back ashore? The garrison there will have room for him."

The Commodore shook his head. "No, where is he now?"

"Isolated below, sir. We've got a guard on him."

"Very good, I'll deal with this myself," Douglas stated. "Might as well take my mind off these ridiculous reports," he mumbled under his breath.

After Douglas retrieved his fine blue bridge coat and adjusted his hat, the two marines escorted him below. It was dark, damp and smelt of both sweat and salt, but Douglas had long since grown used to the smell of a boat. He ducked beneath an exposed beam, passing by wall-like stacks of supplies and nodded briefly to the marine on guard.

The prisoner was old, that was for sure. He was wearing a soaked red coat, likely from falling into the ocean for his white hairs were slicked back and his beard still dripping. His eyes were half-closed, giving the impression that the prisoner was also drunk. Douglas snorted at the spy, briefly wondering if his marines were playing a very poor joke.

"What is this?" Douglas managed to straighten his posture, positioned between two overhanging beams supporting the low ceiling. "What are you doing on my ship, old man?"

"I have a secret message for one Sir Douglas Pellyn," the spy answered. Despite his appearance, he sounded quite healthy and alert.

Douglas laughed and the marines joined him. "Of course! A secret message," Douglas mocked the old man. "Well then, out with it!"

The spy glared at the three soldiers accompanying Douglas. In a split-second, he had gone from seemingly drunk to sharp and confident. "Secret, Commodore. That would tend to imply no outsiders."

Douglas folded his arms. The fine hairs were standing on the back of his neck. For some reason, despite the spy being chained, he felt threatened. Yet the threat did not seem to be directed at him. It was rather an overarching sense of... wrongness; Douglas wasn't sure how else to describe it. The world simply did not feel right.

"Marines, leave us," he ordered against his better judgement.

"Sir?"

Douglas glared at the leader of his guards. "I said leave us! He's already in chains and cannot possibly be a threat."

"Yes sir! As you command sir!" the marine stammered.

Douglas waited until his escorts had finally gone back above. He sighed deeply. "Out with it, now," he glared at the old man.

"Sir Douglas."

Douglas spun around, almost hitting his head against one of the supporting beams. His hand had gone to his hip but then he swore loudly. His sword still hung from the hooks of his cabin!

"Who in the blazes-" Douglas gaped at the sight of the ghost. His mouth couldn't seem to close.

King Edgar Figaro sat calmly on top of a crate behind him.

"My King," Douglas whispered.

Edgar clasped his hands together. He looked a bit older, his hair dirtier than usual and there were dark circles beneath his eyes. But Douglas had watched his King grow up and would never mistake His Majesty for anyone else.

"This is a nice ship, is she new?" Edgar remarked calmly, a touch of awe in his voice. He looked all around the dark room, seemingly unconcerned. "She's very impressive. You should be proud, Douglas."

"My King, where did you... how did... when- dammit!" Douglas slammed his fist against the low ceiling. "King Edgar, they said you were dead!"

Edgar raised an eyebrow. "Really," he said with a click of the tongue. "I feel quite healthy. In fact, I've been enjoying the fruits of our homeland for quite a while now. Did you know there is a wonderful new restaurant in South Figaro? It's in new eastern district, the Key Something or Other. Marquis McCormick was rather impressed as well, and you know how picky he's been lately."

Douglas rubbed his temples in mute, frustrated astonishment. He glanced back at the prisoner curiously.

The red-coated old man scratched his suddenly-dry beard. His chains lay in a neat pile on the dirty floor and his white hair was clean of dirty seawater. "Strago Magus. I'm pleased to meet you Commodore," he introduced himself with a wry smile.

Douglas groaned. He had seen enough of the impossible for one day and simply accepted the old man's change. He turned back to his king and tried to put words to the haze of his mind. "Wait, Fatty McCormick?" he echoed.

"He really needs to cut back on the shellfish," Edgar remarked off-hand.

Douglas growled at how nonplussed the King seemed to be. His mind spun as he thought of the Admiralty, many of whom were recently promoted and certainly unqualified. It made sense now. Everything finally made sense. "Those bastards at the Castle, at the House and..." he trailed off.

"And?" Edgar asked.

"And there will be hell to pay!" Commodore Douglas Pellyn announced with flourish.

King Edgar Roni Figaro smiled. "That would be an understatement."

---

"Lady Terra?"

The voice came from behind; strong and authoritative, but with none of the gruffness of Farin Starson. Terra pulled her cloak tighter, not intending to speak with anyone but the fine General. Catherine tapped on her shoulder though and Terra sighed with frustration. She did not have time today, even if the man sounded harmless.

"My Sophis, I know that you wish to remain undisturbed by the riffraff, but that is the Duke of Mansfield," Catherine whispered in her ear. "It would be folly to ignore his eminence."

Curious, Terra turned to face an elder man wearing an impressive dark cape. The red and black of the Empire was accompanied by silver and gold trim, it was an expensive overcoat matched with an equally expensive triangular hat. A fine rapier was set at the side, ceremonial for it was inlaid with what appeared to be rubies. He was slightly hunched over, but in no way did it diminish his mantle of authority.

"Ah..." Terra hesitated. She recognized the nobleman, but couldn't remember anything more than his title.

"Lady Terra Branford, I do not believe we have been properly introduced, though I suppose I cannot fault Governor Lilienthal's manners, for it was I who so rudely interrupted and discussed business," he gestured extravagantly with a wide grin. "I am Charles, Earl of Castille and the Duke of Mansfield," he removed his hat, bowed and kissed her outstretched arm lightly. "While even casual acquaintances tend to address me as Lord Mansfield, I desire nothing more than to have such a beautiful woman speak plainly."

Terra drew back her gloved hand. "As you wish... Charles?"

The old nobleman chuckled. "Thank you. I note that you lack a suitable escort. Would you allow me the pleasure?"

"We do seem to be headed in the same direction, I would be honoured," Terra knew better than to deny a person of his lineage anything so minor. A quintet of soldiers escorted the powerful nobleman but had drawn back to give them space to speak. Catherine did likewise, shadowing respectfully.

Charles Mansfield carefully replaced his hat atop thinning grey hairs. "I must apologize, when we met at the Messis Luna, I thought of you as nothing more than another pretty face. The good Governor has never been one to attend with a witty consort; I had wrongly assumed you to be another of his..." he trailed off.

"Conquests?" Terra finished.

"That would be an un-gentlemanly thing to say," Charles responded without further correcting her. "The Governor gained quite a bit of standing with you by his side; and after the events of the past months, I was clearly and baselessly wrong. I beg your forgiveness."

"No offence was taken," Terra prayed she wasn't forgetting anything important. It had been a while since her lessons in deportment and the time since then had not been spent acting like a noblewoman. "I am curious though, what do you mean by 'gaining quite a bit of standing'?"

Charles straightened. Though he was old, easily Strago's age if not more, he was still taller than she. "One of the late-Emperor's personal advisors accompanying the Governor would certainly sway any undecided minds," he answered as he brushed back his extraordinary cape. "He could not have gained more support from nobility had the Emperor's ghost appeared and declared the Governor to be the proper successor!"

Terra was taken aback, but tried not to show her surprise. "Strange, there are soldiers aplenty that would believe quite the opposite."

The nobleman clasped his hands behind his cape. He raised an eyebrow, wrinkling his face even more. "Has that silly rumour of Palazzo's gained so much traction? The common soldier is such an easily swayed thing, but I'd be surprised if even they still believe such nonsense. There is so much evidence to the contrary! Speak not of such tomfoolery; there are matters of much more pressing significance in this world."

Terra remained quiet on that note. Charles was right, while in the beginning there had been the occasional group of soldiers that believed she was General Leo's assassin, they had become rarer with each week that passed.

"On a lighter note, I must congratulate you. This treaty you have created is an impressive piece of work, for the effort alone I would commend you, but to see it come to such a conclusion... I owe you a deep debt of gratitude, Lady."

Terra raised a finger. "I was not alone. Colonel Norris Ferdinand-"

"-is not here, is he?" Charles interrupted. "Come now, this is not the time to be modest! I am not a senile old man, I can plainly see that you are here for a gathering of important peoples, and yet the fine Colonel is nowhere to be seen. It doesn't take a Magitek scientist to determine who was really behind the creation of the truce."

Terra sighed. There was no point in arguing.

"Your perseverance is admirable. Becoming friends with Governor Lilienthal is no easy task, but I can see that it has empowered you to end the warfare tearing apart our Empire. Now look at you! Positioned to rein in Anson Tilton, accompanying him everywhere in order to counter his honeyed tongue. Your achievements will be remembered, do not worry. I already have my finest minstrel composing an epic ballad as we speak. He is fond of the violin though, perhaps overly so, but I assure you that it will be magnificent despite such a flaw."

Charles lowered his voice and leaned close. "Be weary of Anson Tilton though. I do not trust that man, even in defeat. He is calculating and shrewd. He knows that all it takes is political power in order to enact any change, even something as ill-advised as the Equality Crusade. He will do everything he can to hold onto his powers as First Citizen. A woman of your talents would do well to tread lightly around him."

Terra stopped in her tracks, suddenly fed up with the elder nobleman. "Our paths diverge here, it seems," she gestured in a random direction. "It has been a pleasure speaking with you, Lord Mansfield," she curtseyed as best she could without a dress.

Charles bowed once more, deeper than the last. When he straightened, he had to brush his thin grey hairs out of the way before replacing his hat once more. "It has been my pleasure, Lady Terra. May your deeds always bring glory to the Empire."

---

Locke opened his cloak slightly; sweat was running down the back of his neck. He strode through the Imperial Camp, unimpressed with the security, and yawned. He was tired. Both day and night had been spent on the back of a chocobo in order to arrive on time. He rubbed his empty stomach absent-mindedly and hurried along the snow-covered main road.

Sherwood was equally hungry beside him.

"What a chaotic place," Locke grumbled.

"Three factions that should be at each other's throats, two regiments each arranged to defend their leaders. That over ten-thousand soldiers that either hate each other, or have friends on the other side of the line," Sherwood pointed out. "I'm surprised it's so orderly. Where's the drinking? The idiotic games? The duels? The brawls?"

Locke pointed to his right. Four men were pounding on each other with their fists, clearly inebriated but all smiles.

"Alright, so it's not that orderly. You can't blame them for the lull in discipline."

"This mess wouldn't survive ten minutes if it was attacked."

"No one has the strength, that is, unless you fell asleep and let the Maverick and five divisions pass."

Locke was about to scoff at the jest when a group of soldiers rudely cut him off. He growled at the six men, shaking his fist at the back of a pompous black and red caped old man that the others were clearly escorting.

"Calm down," Sherwood put a hand on his shoulder. "And stop waving your fist like that!"

Locke rolled his eyes. "No manners, you Imperials."

"No brains, you Returners," Sherwood retorted back. "Open your eyes! That wasn't some random geezer cutting in front of us; that was the Duke of Mansfield."

Locke frowned. "You mean of the city?"

"The one and only, especially since all of his relatives are probably dead now... I heard he didn't escape the proscriptions unscathed."

"So he's an old man with a title that shares its name with a city. Why should I care? He still cut me off."

"The Duke of Mansfield is the single most powerful nobleman in all of the Empire. Outside the military, his clout is second only to the First Citizen. He's also an unforgiving one, always planning revenge. I heard once, he waited a decade before politically crushing an opponent who accidentally insulted his cousin; he ruined the man's reputation, took his belongings and exiled the entire family to a deserted island."

"Where did you hear that?"

"Albrook," Sherwood answered. "Colonel Ferdinand used to make me baby-sit more than just Terra."

Locke chuckled at his friend's misfortune. "Ah Sherwood, the Colonel's just matching your vast talents to the job at hand."

Sherwood sneered. "Things haven't changed."

With the wind knocked out his sails, Locke proceeded away from the Duke of Mansfield. The two men picked up the pace slightly, both unused to the preponderance of friendly troops. Certainly Locke had never thought there would be a time when he could point at an Imperial squadron and say, "those guys are on my side." Yet he had spent the last month with Norris and his men, scouring the countryside on a mission to locate the Maverick and his barbarian forces.

Locke briefly remembered his surprise when the New Order's leadership knelt in front of Norris and Terra. He had been there that day, sneaking on top of the roof to cover Terra just in case there were more than two Magitek Knights for Sherwood to handle. He had scurried away afterwards and was unsurprised by Norris' news that the Civil War was over.

Terra had been unwilling to shed light on what had happened. But Locke was no fool and Sherwood had been there. It wasn't long before Locke knew everything.

"Sophis," Locke mumbled under his breath. He shook his head, annoyed that Norris had been right once more. "Where is the Colonel anyways?" Locke asked. "I thought he would ride with us, this is rather important."

"He refused the invitation and let Gossman take some time off instead," Sherwood answered. "You would know that if you didn't sleep through the last briefing."

Locke grinned. "It was your turn to get up at that ungodly hour," he pointed out. "After twenty in the field, you can't blame a guy for catching what shut-eye he can."

"Yeah, well the Colonel's getting suspicious. I don't think our little scheme is going to work for much longer."

Locke shrugged. "After the peace treaties get signed today, I don't think we'll need to be out there on the lookout for the Maverick and hunting down the damn Guild. There will finally be enough warm bodies to adequately patrol the Plains of Callaghan."

Sherwood didn't answer. "That's strange," he noted in a much lower voice.

Locke followed Sherwood's slight gesture of the head to a man walking through the Imperial camp. Alone, he wore a white-washed cloak that covered most of his body. But both eagle-eyed archers immediately noticed the grey peaking out beneath the cloth, as well as a white sash.

"The Guild?" Locke asked quietly. Both men swerved towards their cloaked quarry.

The Guild: it was the name of the organization that attacked them in Gwendolen Ford. Even finding out that much had been a tough task; it was the conclusion of an adventure that Locke preferred to never think about again. The Guild worked under the Maverick though and that was all that mattered.

Both Locke and Sherwood instantly associated grey robes and white sashes with the Guild now, and both men were on this one with lethal intent. They pushed their way through the crowd of soldiers, almost getting into a fight with a drunken fool, but the pair shadowed the robed man without fail.

In the midst of a cluster of tents, surrounded by several hundred Imperial soldiers that were all in good cheer and drinking to their heart's content, the robed man stopped suddenly. Locke snuck off to the right, knowing that Sherwood would cover the left, and tried to make out the hooded face.

Locke didn't really know why he did what he did. It had been instinctive, so long had he travelled with Ifrit that the ancient Esper was really like a sixth sense. Locke's attention was inexplicably drawn to one of the tent entrances instead of the robed man's face, and out of that tent strolled another hooded figure. The shape was feminine, and her hair was silver in the sunlight reflected off the snow.

Silver... like a shiny grey. A shiver ran down his spine.

Locke spun around. The vibration of a spring snapping into place shuddered up his arm and from his sleeve, a crossbow bolt lanced through the air.

The robed figure was faster though. Air wavered around him and two crossbow bolts -- from front and behind -- went off-course. Before either bolt flew past their target, a column of ice erupted forth.

"Terra, get down!" Locke screamed.

Terra had not been motionless. Her hood was already off and eyes glowing a deadly red as she pushed aside a blond-haired woman. Her hand came up and the column of magic, twice her height and composed of thousands of sharpened picks of glimmering ice, smashed into a solid barrier. They exploded into a spray of harmless snowflakes, but as Terra's skin took on a white hue the ice vaporized instantly into steam.

Locke whipped his dull-black knife as he charged forward. The knife stopped in the air an arms-length away from the Magitek Knight, but Locke was only another arms-length behind that.

His arm came up and a crossbow bolt was embedded between the shocked eyes of his magical enemy.

Another bolt hit the back of the neck and then Locke was on top of the Magitek Knight. He grabbed his knife -- still suspended in the air -- and slashed the throat of the assailant. The grey robed man toppled to the ground, dead thrice over. Locke reloaded his crossbows while scanning the area around him. Sherwood was covering them with his bow, and Terra...

A white-winged Esper met his gaze.

"Are you alright?" Locke asked as Terra reverted. Grey hair fell partway down her back and a frown creased her face as she looked down at the dead Magitek Knight. The blond-woman that Terra had pushed aside trailed behind, covered with snow and looking quite flustered.

"I should ask you the same," Terra pointed out. "Thank you, as always, Locke."

Locke tried not smile as he let his sleeves drop down and cover his crossbows. "He was specifically after you."

"He wouldn't have succeeded. But I'm impressed. They found yet another way to hide from my spells," Terra folded her arms. "That won't work again, but their stubbornness and perseverance is somewhat admirable." She did not sound impressed though, but rather annoyed.

"My Sophis, are you sure you're unharmed?"

Locke's eyes narrowed at the blond-woman that asked the question. The Imperial was heavily armed, wearing a style of armor that Locke knew to be lighter than his and easier to move around in, but far less effective at turning blows. There was a deadly air about her and she moved with the grace of a cat. His eyes were attracted to her belt, where strange-looking crossbow bolts were strapped tightly.

"Yes, thank you for trying, Catherine, but you would have gotten in my way. Magic is the last thing I fear," Terra remarked. "Locke, be nice," she added when she noticed the glower on his face.

Locke shrugged. "Anyone protecting Terra is a friend of mine," he said in a non-committal fashion. He turned his attention back to their surroundings... and at last noticed the hundreds that were staring at them in shock. Many had drawn their weapons and there were the beginnings of a major scuffle taking place.

"It's alright folks, the threat is eliminated," Terra strode past Locke and waved at the soldiers. With her head uncovered, sunlight seemed to softly caress the long locks of silver hair that flowed over her shoulders. "There's nothing to fear or anyone to blame. I'll head the investigation into this problem, so everyone should relax and forget this."

Her words seemed to put the crowd at ease and most went back to their celebrations. A few continued to openly gawk at Terra -- she had just recently shape-shifted into a white-winged angel -- but the authority she radiated had placated the volatile situation.

"You know we can't be sure no one else was sent by the Maverick," Locke whispered under his breath. He made eye-contact with Sherwood and the blond-haired soldier snuck around behind them. "We can stop his armies from infiltrating, but not individual spies or assassins."

"That's fine," Terra stated blankly.

"It's a lie. What happens if there's more?" Locke asked. His eyes scanned the soldiers around them, only half-concentrating on the conversation.

"Then we'll kill them when they reveal themselves. For now these troopers need to hear unambiguous words from a source of strength," Terra answered as she pulled her cloak tight. She straightened her hair. "Men like them need strong leadership, or else they'll panic and then we'll find ourselves in real trouble."

"Yeah," Locke mumbled in response. He was watching the crowd.

"Anyhow, I wouldn't worry. My magic will be more than capable of protecting us," she said with a meaningful smile.

Locke smiled back, but his attention was quickly taken away. His eyes narrowed on a group of six that squeezed their way past the crowd. They all looked quite winded. Locke recognized the leader; it was the young boy that had been part of Anson Tilton's entourage.

"Sophis!" the boy came to a halt gasping for breath. "I've been looking for you and Catherine, but could not find either of you."

Locke and Sherwood exchanged a glance with each other.

"What's going on?" Terra asked authoritatively.

"Lady-"

A roar came from the crowds nearby, an eruption of outrage, swearing and cursing. But above that, they could hear the news with crystal clarity. Anson's messenger had only been seconds earlier than the spread of news.

"Assassins! Assassins have attacked!"


	17. An Unavoidable Destiny

**The Seventeenth Chapter - An Unavoidable Destiny**

There was an army of soldiers surrounding the center tent, many squadrons with steel bared and lines drawn in the snow. The elite of the elite, personal bodyguards to some of the most powerful people in the world, commanders of highly recognized squadrons, pilots of some of the most renown Magitek Armor squadrons... everyone was screaming at each other and blaming all but themselves.

Ranks upon ranks of soldiers were positioned aggressively in battle formations. There had been no bloodshed yet, but tempers ran hot and conflict seemed inevitable. Magitek Armors were powering up and Terra recognized several of the chocobo knights by their famed emblem: the Triple Triskele. With three interlocked drinking horns -- like a crescent with one end abruptly cut off -- of the colour crimson upon deathly black, the Knights of Odin were unquestionably Remiel Lilienthal's finest soldiers.

Thick black knots of smoke still rose from the tent, but the inferno that had raged was long gone. The scene near the now-broken circular table was exposed to the outside world for all to see. The assassins had struck not only at heart of the camp, but the heart of each faction.

There would be no forgiveness.

A path parted through the mass of angry men as Terra marched through. Near the tent, there were a few guards that looked like Magitek Knights, but their uniforms were strictly ceremonial. Terra could sense no magic in them and she doubted that the Empire had enough of their kind to spare on such a trifle job -- those mages still remaining would likely be similar to Norris; commanding their own units, not acting like grunts. Most likely these were elite soldiers trained to mimic Magitek Knights, the threat of force rather than force itself.

Even elite bodyguards scrambled aside when they saw the dark look on Terra's face. Those with nerve found themselves withering under the force of her angry glare. The few who paid her no attention discovered her protective shadows -- Locke, Sherwood and Catherine -- to be even less patient than the Lady they escorted.

Of the five dead bodies, Terra identified two wearing the grey of the Guild. Her blood boiled upon seeing those distinctive sashes again. She should have known that the Maverick's forces had infiltrated this encampment with more than subterfuge in mind!

"Locke, please take care of the security of this tent," Terra ordered. "Catherine, help him."

Twin nods and her three escorts spread out to ensure her safety.

Terra did her best to avoid running, it wouldn't be good if anyone saw how distressed she truly was. Grey hair fluttered behind her back as a nigh-visible magical aura made the air quiver around her. Her leather boots dipped into the icy ground, leaving melted pools of water rippling in her wake.

"Anson!" she called out when she saw his crumpled body.

"Sophis," Anson bowed his head as he sat atop of the broken centre table. Pierce, a Magitek Knight with long dark hair that was Catherine's equal, was tending to the burns on the First Citizen's arm.

"Are you hurt?" Terra asked as she hurried to his side. The wounds looked superficial.

Anson gestured behind him. "They need your help, not I."

On the opposite end of the table, two more grey-robed cadavers laid sprawled on the frost-covered dirt. A bloodstained blade still stuck out of one's back while the other's face had been burnt to a crisp; no one could ever identify that body. Beside the slain, a red-haired woman was hunched over. Her brown uniform fluttered in the breeze as light blue sparkles danced from her fingers, twirling around the body of-

"Farin!" Terra dashed beside Danielle.

Farin Starson had a weak grin on his face. He was propped up against the broken table, blood running down the side of his face, plate armor ripped apart by inhuman strength and his right arm a mass of blackened, leathery skin and melted metal. "Good day, Ms. Branford," he coughed in pain.

Terra put an arm on Danielle's shoulder. "You're doing it wrong," she told the General sternly. "If you don't heal the flesh beneath those burns, the cost will be his arm and perhaps more."

Instead of a snappy response, blue sparkles faded away as Danielle scurried aside. She gestured at Farin. "Please," Danielle asked simply.

An unnatural wind swirled around Terra as a bright azure aura surrounded her and Farin. The skin on his right arm, burnt to a crisp and of such expanse that it was doubtful whether it could ever heal again, flaked aside and floated away in the updraft. Healthy flesh appeared beneath, muscles visibly weaving around exposed bone, as more and more blackened pieces of skin were gently ripped off Farin's arm.

"Thank you," it was not Farin who spoke, but Danielle behind her.

Terra ignored the General of Tzen until she was sure that Farin's injuries would not hamper him. The melted armor was a grave problem, but she had some experience healing such injuries and worked as quickly as she could. Gritting her teeth, she willed the metals aside. "I'll deal with the rest when we have more time," she smiled and reassuringly squeezed his leg.

Farin grimaced.

Terra let go quickly. "Is there a wound-?"

A devious turn of the lip. "I'll be fine, Lady Terra," he stressed the appellation. "Go! There are more important matters today than a stupid warrior who decided to throw away his sword before fighting a man encased in a wall of flame."

Terra shook her head and chuckled despite herself. She carefully drew a sheathed dagger from an inner pocket in her white wolf mantle. The yellow gemstone that sat amidst an embroidered star glinted in the sunlight. "Perhaps you need this more than I do," she answered slyly.

Farin snickered for a moment and then doubled over as it became a ragged cough. "Please," he groaned with a straight face. "Now you're just insulting me. Go on Terra, all your sacrifices will be for naught if you keep delaying. There is a treaty to be made, traitors to hunt, and an Empire to spread goodwill and cheer."

Terra rolled her eyes at his formality, but took his words to heart nevertheless. She stood up and addressed Danielle. "Are you injured?" she asked as she slipped the dagger of the Starson household back into its secret pocket. It was only then that Terra finally noticed that despite Farin's near-crippling wounds, Danielle was largely unscathed. There were a few smudges of ash across her armor, but that had been from trying to heal her executive officer. The red-haired General was only slightly shaken from the attack.

"I'm fine," Danielle folded her arms and shook her head in clear disapproval. "He should have let me handle it. It's supposed to be magic against magic, not bare hands against scorching flames." Her fingers rapped rapidly against the broken table. "Damn chauvinistic fool," she whispered under her breath.

"You know, my hearing is still fine," Farin interjected from below them.

Terra chuckled again as she looked down at Farin's flatly shaven head of hair. "General Starson," she began in a formal, almost haughty voice. "Might I inquire as to the location of Donnach and Reinhardt? Are they not the comic relief?"

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that Danielle had smiled.

---

Locke found himself with little to do. Highly competent soldiers, unlike most of the rabble he had waded through, had already formed lines of defence. The situation had changed since they just arrived. Instead of blaming one another, the three factions had apparently worked together and formed a safeguard of several hundred elite soldiers, including the mounted, and even had Magitek Armors clearing a zone around their leaders.

"You there, just from the tent, what is the status of General Starson?"

Locke folded his arms and sighed. All his efforts and yet the Guild was still threatening Terra. Damn the Maverick and his underhanded methods! He wondered what Norris would have thought of the situation. The Maverick had sent in quite a number of Magitek Knights on suicidal missions. What kind of leader would do such a thing?

"I say you there, soldier! Get over here!"

Locke turned towards the sound, frowning. Though he had worked with Norris for several months now, the last thing he ever wanted was to be called an Imperial soldier. Who did the arrogant officer think he was?

"Dammit Locke," Sherwood was suddenly by his side. "Are you trying to piss off every single person of importance around here?"

Locke muttered under his breath as the man who had shouted approached them. When he saw the single star hanging from his armor, Locke mentally kicked himself. A General?

The brown-haired officer was young though, barely Locke's age. And behind him was...

"Well what a surprise. It's a pleasure to see you again," said the woman with two-stars on her chest. She put an arm on her fellow peer's shoulder and pulled him back. "Terrance, this is Locke Cole," Karen Alysworth explained. "He's a civilian," she added meaningfully.

Terrance seemed to catch her meaning. "Sorry about that, Mister Cole. I thought you were one of the Guard, considering you just accompanied Lady Terra."

Beside Locke, Sherwood straightened. His legs snapped together and he saluted. "General Alysworth!" Sherwood barked.

"Lieutenant Sherwood, I do believe it is?" Karen waited until he nodded. "At ease," she ordered. "Now where is your commander? He's late and there's one hell of a mess here that he needs to sort out; it's about damn time he started earning his pay-grade."

"He sends his regrets, ma'am," Sherwood was clearly uncomfortable. "A few issues in Halstead required his personal attention and he was unable accept your invitation. I was sent in his place."

Locke folded his arms. Perhaps he should have gone to the last meeting with Norris, he wondered what was so engrossing to the old Magitek Knight that he would skip out on such a historic day.

"That's awfully fortunate for him," Karen grumbled with a slight frown. "Very well, if you were sent in his place, then you will take over in an official capacity. Speak with the Captain over there and ensure the security is up to your high standards. I do not want anymore mistakes and I expect a man of your experience will not tolerate further transgressions from the Guild."

"Yes ma'am," Sherwood spun on his heels and marched away. Locke pondered if he should help his friend, Terra had already asked him to do the same thing anyhow.

"Wait, Locke Cole?" Terrance repeated with the voice of a man who just connected the obvious.

"Locke," Karen gestured at the officer beside her. "This is Brigadier-General Terrance Cassidy. Terrance, Locke is a highly valued guest of Albrook, if not of the Empire proper. He is under my protection, do you understand?"

Terrance cleared his throat. "I was just surprised. Lady Terra, one the Emperor's finest, I could understand. But this rebe-"

"General Cassidy!" Karen raised her voice.

"-I was merely wondering if General Starson is safe," Terrance quickly changed the topic. Karen was clearly in command of the situation and held the younger general's leash.

Locke shrugged. "I doubt Terra would let him die," he answered to nods all around. "If you don't mind me asking, what happened here? Terra asked me to secure the area, but it doesn't look like I'm needed. There must be several hundred soldiers gathered here."

"Just over a thousand, actually, and many more on the way," Karen pointed at the smoking tent. "As for your question, Magitek Knights managed to sneak by disguised as Imperial Guardsmen here to defend Mister Tilton," Karen answered. "Five of them came in unannounced, though I don't know how many had magic. Danielle's bodyguard, that living statue over there," she gestured at the tall form of one of the two men Locke had long since given up hope of distinguishing between, "pulled me out of there."

"Considering Mister Tilton, his bodyguard and General Meras are all Magitek Knights, I dare say it was the right choice," Terrance interjected. "Your safety was paramount, and they could not defend you and deal with the traitors."

"Yes, well it would have been fair odds had we stayed," Karen growled, clearly annoyed at the way she had been babysat. "We were all very lucky that General Starson had just arrived, he dashed in there like a man possessed with his blade thundering... literally," she added.

"What happened then?" Locke asked.

"I'm not sure, all I saw was the aftermath," Karen gestured back to the still-smoking tent. "General Cassidy arrived recently as well, reinforcing our positions here. No one gets through without being triple-checked by all three factions now," she growled. "The Maverick will not play us against each other."

"Knowing General Starson and the manner in which he behaved during Third Reddenhurst, he probably charged headlong into a blast of fire with his sword swinging," Terrance surmised. "He is a warrior of renown; honour would have dictated nothing less than self-sacrifice."

"The good General's guess isn't far from the truth."

The three of them turned around. The newcomer was accompanied by two men. Locke gritted his teeth when he saw the black trim lining the Imperial brown leather, he didn't even have to note the insignia of twin-swords upon the men's shoulders. He knew where the loyalties of these men laid: the Imperial Guard, Kefka's favourite minions. They were the same bastards that had protected the Emperor on the Floating Continent; nothing more than fanatical sheep that were blindly dedicated to the safety of the Empire's leadership.

"Generals," the newcomer nodded respectfully. "Locke, I do believe your name was?" he held out his hand.

Locke folded his arms and glared at the evil looking man; moustache and all!

"Ah, so you are the Returner. I thought you looked familiar," the new arrival took back his hand, un-offended by Locke's rebuke.

"The Major is in charge of the real Imperial Guard," Karen added, gesturing to the long-haired moustached officer.

"Here to defend the First Citizen," the Major acknowledged. He had a peculiar accent that was foreign in the Empire. "Though we were too late and our names tarnished by those traitors of the Maverick's. To answer your question, Mister Cole, apparently General Starson killed one mage by throwing his sword like a dagger, and then charged into a column of flames with nothing but his hands."

"What valour," Terrance whispered in reverence. "Truly a great man."

Locke's eyes were still narrowed on the Major of the Imperial Guard.

"And please Mister Cole, any more intensity and I fear you would kill me with your gaze. I have no relation to the former leader, Nairne. Actually, I was sentenced to death for refusing to follow some of his illegal orders. I have the Long Night to thank for my survival and subsequent promotion. I feel nothing but hatred for Palazzo's pawns. That makes us friends, I believe. How does the old saying go? The enemy of my enemy is my friend?"

Locke's retort was quickly cut short. He spun around as he heard Magitek Armors powering up their elemental cannons. The whine of such weapons was impossible to forget.

"You there! Stop or we'll shoot!"

At southernmost of the checkpoints, a number of soldiers had already drawn bows and crossbows. One of the smaller Magitek Armors, three times a man's height but hundreds of times his mass, barricaded the road. The pilot inside pulled shut the clear enclosure that protected the cockpit.

Fast approaching was a chocobo rider. He was galloping towards them with such fury that the bird's legs were kicking up packed snow from the well-trodden ground.

Sherwood, almost forgotten amongst the higher-ranked officers, took a few aggressive steps forward instinctively. Karen Alysworth was his superior's superior and even if that were not the case, Norris would likely flay him alive had he failed to keep her out of harm's way.

"This is your last warning!" the voice came from an armored Knight upon an equally armored chocobo. A great black cape, bearing a symbol of three horns twisted together, flapped behind him. "PFC, fire when you have range!"

The Magitek Armor took aim.

Karen stepped out front to everyone's surprise, breaking Sherwood's grip on her shoulder. "Belay that order!" she barked.

The checkpoint was likely an amalgamation of men from all three factions, but when a Major-General gave a direct order to soldiers that would likely never reach the rank necessary to polish her boots, they obeyed. Enough ammunition to flatten a charging behemoth remained trained on the chocobo rider, but that was obviously unnecessary when they saw how injured the rider was.

"Lieutenant, get up there, now! That's one of ours!" Karen shouted.

Sherwood strolled through the blockade of archers without a second question and he was not alone. Locke followed his friend and the Imperial Guard's new commander also gave into curiosity. The three men advanced, the chocobo slowing down as it reached them.

The rider was injured, blood dripping down his side. It didn't look like he was capable of hanging onto the chocobo, and Locke nodded to himself when he noted that the soldier's arms had gotten caught in the bird's reins.

"Oh no," Sherwood whispered as they saw the bloodied face of the rider. He was long since dead.

Locke held out a hand. "We should be careful, it could be trapped-"

Sherwood's eyes were wide-open in surprise, a naked expression that Locke had never seen. The Imperial archer spun around. "General Alysworth!" he shouted unnecessarily, for the Major-General was already trailing them with ten of her own bodyguards as well as the two remaining Imperial Guardsmen. The blockade of soldiers remained in position, they knew better than to get involved.

"Damn," Karen whispered. The premature wrinkles in her face seemed to deepen as she closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. "War," she breathed.

"Sherwood," Locke growled quietly.

"We're in trouble," Sherwood answered Locke's question with a low voice. "That's the Captain of the General's personal guard."

Locke didn't need it stated explicitly. He knew the problem now, though he wasn't sure he understood the full effect it might have on the affairs of the Empire. Yet the sinking feeling he felt at the bottom of his stomach was likely correct.

General Remiel Lilienthal was dead and with him, the prospect of peace.

---

The noble houses would refuse to follow the treaty. In turn, their connections would turn the majority of the Imperial industrial base at odds with whatever ruling council could be cobbled together. With the Empire's economy already at the brink of collapse, the last thing anyone wanted was the forceful state seizure of thousands upon thousands of businesses. Not even the military could accomplish such a task, even if there were no defections amongst enlisted personnel, and any attempt would surely be the deathblow for the Empire.

A new dark age: the collapse of civilization. Vector and Fanshaw would be just the beginning. Not even the Generals of the Empire could hold their armies together once the factories closed and necessities of life became scarce. They would turn inward and fight over scraps.

Anarchy. Chaos. Savagery.

Terra's eyes met Anson's, his soft brown eyes telling her what she already knew.

"Not even I can do anything about it," Terra groaned.

Remiel Lilienthal was dead. His carriage was burnt to ashes and his personal guard slain upon the sides of the road. A battle had been fought here; blades, arrows and sorcery intermixed to take the life of one of the most powerful men in the Empire. He had been the only person capable of convincing the nobility to set aside their differences, ignore grudges that ran generations deep and throw their unequivocal support behind him.

And now he was dead.

"Find me the Duke of Mansfield!" Anson ordered one of his bodyguards. "And hurry!"

Terra was crouched over, almost ready to cry. She wiped her eyes and blinked rapidly to clear her vision, focusing on the crippled body that had been a keystone of their truce. A man who had promised her that he would end civil strife and usher in a new age of peace...

She had held up her end of the bargain and he had done the same. Yet fate had conspired against them all.

Remiel was recognizable for only one reason, his clothes. There were few that dressed in the same manner, a military General whose uniform was a contradiction of the term.

Anson delicately put his hand on her shoulder. "Lady, please let us handle this."

Terra shook her head. With a deep breath, she regained her composure and coldly examined Remiel Lilienthal's corpse. It looked as if his flesh had been devoured from within, his skin hung off bones like rags and his face was nothing but a gaunt, wrinkly mass. He was housed in plate armor, but his body was so thin that it looked like a metallic cage rather than protective gear. He ranked of decay, like a corpse several days old despite the fact that there were still pools of blood not yet dry.

Only his eyes were untouched, but no longer were the jade orbs more unnervingly-aged than any other part of his body. Indeed it was the opposite, for his skin was wrinkled, his body skeletal, and even Remiel's long brown hair had turned an ashen grey.

Like hers.

Terra bit down on her lip. Focus! Yet even her willpower was insufficient, for her vision began to water again. She shot to her feet, frustrated and shamed of her inability to calm the torrent of emotion within. There were others depending on her for guidance here! She could not break down into tears at this moment, not even if this meant that war would begin anew. The soldiers would see her insecurity and weakness. They would pounce and exploit it, causing only further death.

Another deep breath and sparkles began to dance over the corpse.

Remiel was saturated with magic; perhaps a trap? The residual aura about him was what made him seem like a Magitek Knight to the casual scan. But there was nothing to fear here, because Terra was sure that no ruthless mage had spelled the body. It was merely Remiel's... uniqueness.

Terra took another deep breath in a futile attempt to calm down. Her gaze drifted, but quickly averted from the huge swarm of Imperial activity. She chose to focus on the texture of the frost-covered road.

"First Citizen, orders?" it was the leader of the Imperial Guard, his thickly accented voice stood out amongst his brethren.

"I have no need for your fine abilities as of the moment. However, perhaps General Alysworth could use the extra men on security detail?" Anson was, as always, composed and thinking politics. "The area has yet to be secured."

"Speak with Lieutenant Sherwood over there," Karen pointed, "I have placed him in temporary command. I trust that you will offer a hand, rather than attempting to pull rank?"

"I wouldn't dream of it, sir."

As the Imperial Guardsmen left with their leader, Karen and Anson began exchanging quiet whispers that Terra could not overhear; not that she cared to, there was something about Remiel's death that was on the tip of her tongue. Her eyes glazed over as she let her subconscious mind wander.

"-command falls to me! I don't care for appearances. My priority is to locate these assassins and deal with their treachery!" Karen barked. "I've had enough of these ridiculous games."

"General Alysworth," Anson growled. "If you do not turn your mind to placating your own soldiers and reassuring them that the assassins were of Drummond's command-"

"We don't know that!" Karen interrupted.

"You wouldn't insinuate-"

"No, but I will not lie to my men! The last thing they need after dealing with the death of their General is a deceitful replacement. I will not throw away decades of my reputation in the army to pander to your little schemes, Tilton."

"Two words: mass defections. They'll start within the day if you don't address these issues! Unless you wish to deal with another war, you're going to have to take his place completely, not just as a military officer!"

"Anson," Terra's voice was low, certainly without the passion that gripped the two embroiled in debate. But nevertheless, Anson Tilton's attention was immediately directed towards the grey-haired half-Esper.

"He was poisoned," Terra declared. She turned away from the corpse of Remiel Lilienthal and into the First Citizen's soft brown eyes. Her long grey hair fluttered in the chill breeze of winter. "That's what sapped his strength."

Anson took a few steps forward, almost glowering at the dead body of the noble-born General. "Do you mean this was no assassination?"

Karen's ears perked up. "What's going on here?"

Terra shook her head. "I don't even know how you came to that conclusion, Anson."

"At a glance, it looks like his corpse has aged beyond the mortal coil. If you're telling me that it was merely his decade-old affliction that finally took his life, then that is good news... in a manner of speaking."

Terra narrowed her eyes, a chill travelling down her spine as she glared at Anson. "How did you know?" she asked.

"The same way you did?" Anson replied back, oblivious to her suspicions.

Terra folded her arms. "I highly doubt that."

"General Lilienthal's affliction was no secret, Lady Terra," Karen interjected authoritatively. "It is rather difficult to hide the fact that one does not age, especially when one is in the public eye as often as Remiel was."

"Though this was a special case, as most of the public didn't really make the connection. They just assumed he had youthful good looks," Anson finally perceived Terra's confusion. "But for the nobility and most of the commanding staff, it wasn't exactly a secret that Remiel had been 'poisoned' early in his career. Although most failed to see why it caused him misery rather than joy..."

"You mean people knew he had eternal youth and just accepted it? That's unbelievable," Terra pointed out in shock. This kind of talk was coming from the Empire, from no less than the lead scientist of the Magitek Labs? Preposterous!

"Most didn't care, and those who did wouldn't dare touch House Lilienthal. In addition to that, Remiel was once a close friend of Emperor Gestahl; perhaps even still in the last days of the late-Emperor's rule. It was absolute folly to move against him, even if he held the secret to eternal youth. But that's beside the point; I've seen the scars upon his chest." Anson pointed at the thick grey skin that hung from the bones of Remiel's corpse. "Now that you point it out, I have to agree: this doesn't look much different."

Terra nodded. "There's more though," she pointed out. "It's rather deceptive. Look for yourself."

"Perhaps it would be worthwhile to take his body into the labs. We'll look into cause of death in detail there," Anson said as he knelt down and began scanning at her behest.

"Lady Terra," Karen interceded. "Now that the Mister Tilton is looking into the death of the General, I was hoping you could turn your talents to the injured."

Terra nodded. They would have deal with politics later. "Lead the way."

"My Sophis," Anson made eye-contact just as she was just about to leave. He knew what was going on in her heart. "I'm sorry," he said simply.

Terra hesitated; she could feel tears welling up just beneath her eyes again. She took the time to calm herself, hoping that Anson assumed she was deep in thought. "Let's just make sure we find out what killed Remiel; this poison should be of utmost priority," she said at last. "Afer that, then we'll deal with the future."

"That is an excellent plan, my Sophis."

If only she believed it herself.

---

Locke waded deeper into the frozen bush. Remiel's convoy had been rather large; a number of knights on chocobos as well as wagons and carriages had been escorting the General. Since he, Terra and the rest of the Imperials had arrived with a force equal to the number dead alongside of Remiel, Locke was more than a little uneasy.

Whoever had attacked had done so efficiently and quickly. Then they had disappeared into the wilderness.

Locke's bow was out; the chance of encountering enemy soldiers was high. Some might have been left behind, similar to the way the Maverick had left units guarding the rear after sacking Fanshaw. Locke would not be surprised again.

Sherwood had asked him to scout the perimeter. Locke had grudgingly followed his friend's suggestion after losing the two inexperienced soldiers that tried to tag along. It was obviously safer to take care of threats before they could become a menace, and with Terra, Karen and Anson all in the same area, they couldn't take any chances.

So it was that Locke, alone and following a trail of broken branches, footprints in the snow, and instinct when all else failed him, heard a pained cry just over the crest of a hill.

Arrow nocked, Locke crept up the hill inaudibly. Two chocobos were lying upon the ground, their blood seeping into the thick snow. He counted seven bodies and noted that three bore a symbol Locke had seen only in one place. Neither the New Order nor the symbol that Lilienthal's forces had worn, he realized that just like in Vector, the Maverick's forces had been forced to retreat without taking the bodies of their comrades.

His ears twitched when he heard another groan of pain, weaker this time, barely audible even to him. Locke gritted his teeth and ignored the dying man's suffering, choosing to encircle the area first. He moved as quickly as he dared and when he finally felt it was safe, he lit a rocket from his backpack and sent into the sky a blazing red flare.

Keeping his bow between him and the corpses, Locke advanced carefully. Both chocobos were long dead, one rider had been crushed beneath the armored bird while another had landed upon his back and split his head apart. The remaining two soldiers had died with swords in them, taking to the afterlife three of the Maverick's men. Locke kicked aside a cloven shield and heard another groan of pain.

Around a dead chocobo and through crimson snow, Locke's mouth dropped open.

Both brown hair and beard had been soaked in blood, now frozen and matted solid. A large gash had opened the man's abdomen. The life was bleeding out of him; painfully and slowly. He wore not the armor of an Imperial soldier, but a simple tunic and white coat beneath a thick winter cloak. Woven above his breast pocket was a coat of arms that had been burnt into his memory, such was its prominence in the Lilienthal Mansion.

"Kenneth," Locke whispered.

The doctor's eyes opened with great effort. He looked up at his rescuer.

"Locke?" it was definitely his voice, though faint and trembling. "Locke Cole?"

The hairs on the back of his neck rose. Faint words drifted out of his memories, innocent on their own but the picture they painted when brought together... the specific, rare herb from Alfort-Brougham; the insistence on a storefront-only purchase; the already-prepared reports on all the Returners; the incredibly detailed dossiers on their movements starting within Nestil.

"Kenneth," Locke repeated louder. "It was you."

"I'm glad-" Kenneth coughed, splattering fresh blood onto his clothes, "-that you're alive."

Locke replaced his bow, hooking it behind his brown leather armor and white Imperial cloak. The doctor was beyond his ability to save, even if he had the supplies to bandage a wound of that size. "I can't believe it. It was you the entire time, a doctor!"

Under the grey winter sky and surrounded by dead soldiers, Locke stood over the doctor of Nestil. He knelt and looked the man in the eye. "Tell me the layrl was actually necessary. Tell me that all that I've gone through -- all that I've suffered because of you! -- tell me it was all for a good cause!"

Kenneth's head lolled to the side, he had not the energy to match Locke's gaze.

Locke grabbed the doctor's hair and pulled. "Answer me!"

Kenneth nodded as well as he could. "I couldn't cure Setzer otherwise..."

"You were the one who told Danielle!" he screamed. "You were on her side the entire time, you two-faced bastard! You sold us out!" Locke's hands were trembling and despite the obvious pain that Kenneth was in, Locke still grabbed the man by the chest and shook him repeatedly. He knew he was shouting. He knew it was a dangerous act.

He didn't care.

"No!" Kenneth gasped. "Never that scheming bitch," he coughed. "I never worked for her."

"You liar! You almost killed Terra and Relm!" Locke's sleeve fell down and revealed his wrist-mounted crossbow. Yellow gauze glinted off the sharpened, metallic end. His fist almost touched the doctor's nose, the deadly weapon filling all of the traitor's vision. "Stayed in Nestil out of the kindness of your heart, did you? Didn't care for money, right? How much did she pay you? How much did you sell our lives for?"

"Lord Lilienthal honoured me," Kenneth said in a pained whisper. "So that I could... be what my father was. To make amends for..."

Locke shook with rage. The more he thought of the past few months... the closer his fingers came to the trigger.

But he couldn't.

Locke laid Kenneth back against the side of the dead chocobo, knowing that the corpse was still warm and the soft yellow feathers a comfort in the man's dying moments. Locke stood up and wiped the tears off his face, smearing dirt across his cheeks.

He couldn't bring himself to do it.

"I'm sorry," the doctor whispered. His voice was barely audible.

Locke stared into the sky, took several deep breaths and sighed. "I forgive you, Kenneth," he whispered as he stared back down at the dying doctor. "I forgive you for betraying my trust, for your lies and treachery... for hurting me, for getting me killed."

Locke Cole closed his eyes. He could feel the phantom blade on his insides, cold metal against moist flesh. He could feel it twisting still.

"I forgive you, Kenneth," Locke said at last. "Because if it wasn't for you..." he looked down at the pathetic, last moments of the dying doctor. "If you didn't betray us, Terra would never have stopped the Civil War. She would never have met Farin, or Norris, or even Anson."

Locke licked his lips.

"She would never have smiled when thinking about her heritage, or when talking about the future."

Locke wasn't sure if Kenneth's eyes were dilating because the life was draining out of him, or whether the doctor even heard him. But it didn't matter. Locke knelt down once more and looked Kenneth in the eye.

"Thank you, doctor. You healed her as well."

Silence.

Locke didn't know how long it was before he heard them arrive. He had remained still, watching impotently as Kenneth laboured to stay alive. But he was in motion the moment he heard chocobos charging down the same path that the deceased used in their attempted escape. His bow was out and crossbows clear, but he relaxed when he saw long locks of grey hair flowing in the wind.

Terra arrived with her blond Magitek Knight bodyguard and a few soldiers. She dismounted and exchanged words with Catherine, who directed the escort into establishing a perimeter.

"As happy as I am to see you, Terra, I didn't expect you to follow the flare," Locke pointed out. "Where's Anson or Karen?"

Terra shook her head and ignored his question. "I just needed to get out of there," she exasperated. "Karen's a nice woman, but she's been in the military too long. I don't think she realizes how much it hurts to know that everything I've worked for is about to fall apart."

Locke put a hand on her shoulder. "It'll be fine. I'm sure things aren't as bad as you think they are. The world has a funny way of making things right. I mean, just a few months ago, we were prisoners of Danielle. Now look at us."

Terra sighed. "I suppose," she admitted reluctantly. "It's just frustrating. Sometimes, I wish I could just take command of all these armies myself and order them to stop."

With a leery glance, Locke decided to change the subject. "How are you feeling right now?" he asked. "You look tired."

"I said I'm just frustrated," Terra grumbled. "Anyhow, there weren't many of Remiel's guard that needed healing, most were quite dead."

Locke felt his hopes rise knowing that Terra was well-rested. "Come on, you need to help someone we know."

Terra shot him a questioning look. "Who?" she picked up the pace and followed Locke around the dead chocobos. The sight of Kenneth froze her in her tracks.

"We have to save his life."

The animosity on Terra's face set Locke back a step. "No," she growled.

Locke took a deep breath. "I know what you're thinking Terra, believe me, I thought the same thing. But we have to save his life. It doesn't matter if he betrayed us, we're better than that."

Terra glared at him. "It doesn't matter?" she echoed. "Are you listening to yourself, Locke?"

"We're better than he is," Locke repeated. "Please Terra, just forgive him and-"

"Forgive him?" Terra snapped. Her eyes blazed with anger. She pointed at Kenneth. "How can I forgive a man like that? You know what's he's put me... no, what he's put us through! Everything that's happened since we entered Nestil -- everything! -- has been his fault!"

She was furious. Locke shot a glare at one of the soldiers who dared look in their direction, the Imperial quickly glancing away once caught. The others were smart enough not to make the same mistake.

"Terra, what he's done is inexcusable. But we can't simply let him die."

"Why not!"

Locke swallowed, he had never seen Terra so angry, so emotional! "He's still human," Locke reasoned quietly. "He's a doctor too, so if we save his life, he'll help others in turn. Please Terra, just find it in your heart to forgive him and-"

"I won't forgive that thing!" Terra screamed. "I won't excuse a doctor who broke his promise to allow no harm to come to his patients. I won't forgive someone who's betrayed us!"

She pointed at the dying man. Her deep blue eyes blazed with anger, almost seeming to glow crimson with fury. "He endangered our lives and nearly killed all of us! We trusted him, and all he gave us in return was pain!"

Even her hand seemed to glow now, the air wavering with unnatural heat. "It's an unforgivable crime!"

His heart skipped a beat. Locke turned away in shame as his face went red. He felt nauseous and he held his stomach as it seized up.

A man who betrayed those who trusted him.

"Locke?"

Locke turned back to Terra. She had calmed down, but his vision still wavered for some reason. "Please, for me... just save Kenneth's life," he begged.

Terra took one last look at Kenneth. Her face was impassive. "I can't."

An unforgivable crime.

"You can't, or you won't?" Locke snarled.

Terra was taken aback by his sudden outrage, but only for a moment. "What did you just say?" she snapped. "He's dead Locke! I can't resurrect him!"

Locke didn't miss a beat. His hand tapped against the phantom wound on his chest. "You brought me back from the dead! Bring him back too!"

"I can't simply bring back the dead!"

"You mean you don't want to!" Even as the words left his mouth, Locke knew he had gone too far. But it had been too much; his heart ached in pain and all he had left to hold onto was the red-hot fury of righteousness.

Terra glowered at him. "How dare you," her voice was deadly cold. "How dare you question me."

Locke folded his arms. His heart was pounding, the blood rushing to his head was causing him to go dizzy. But still he scowled at her.

"You have no idea what it cost me to resurrect you," Terra growled. "You have no idea how much I sacrificed in order to save your life! After all we've been through, after all that I've done for you..." she paused in disbelief. She rubbed her temples and grimaced in disgust.

"How dare you question me!" she screamed at him.

They glared at each other for a moment, time seeming to slow as their twin tempers boiled. Locke's scowl weakened through, and Terra's sapphire eyes broke contact shortly after.

"Terra," Locke started.

Terra twisted aside, her grey hair flying in the wind like a curtain between them. "Catherine, we're leaving!" she barked as she marched away.

---

The world was a daze as Terra rode back into camp. She remembered vaguely asking about Anson's whereabouts and being told that he had left with Karen. She remembered that Remiel's body had been missing and that apparently, one of Anson's Magitek Knights and several of the Imperial Guards had seen to taking the cadaver away. Something about an examination, Terra didn't remember much of the explanation.

The Imperial Camp was in an uproar, but Terra paid little attention as she rode through the thick of things. Catherine proved her worth as she and several of Terra's escort cleared the road, deftly handling hostile soldiers -- many drunk -- that crowded their path. The blond Magitek Knight did not kill anyone of course, but her magic was more than capable of decisively expelling the rabble. They dismounted as a group and marched through the blockades that protected the central tent.

Terra tried to clear her head. It would do her no good to be emotional when she returned to deal with Danielle, Karen and Anson. There was still the truce to be signed, and she would not allow Remiel's death destroy the only hope they had for peace! She knew that it was the right direction for the Empire to follow, knew it with every fibre of her body.

She didn't care what anyone else thought or what they wanted. Vengeance? Power? Money? Her teeth grated together. No, they would have peace, dammit. The Empire would have peace!

There was still much work to be done and she had to have her wits about her. Yet she could do nothing but think about what Locke had said; what he had accused her of. Her cheeks still felt red from his rebuke.

So it was that she walked directly into the red and black of the Empire. Backing up a step, she noticed the silver and gold trim too late.

"Lady Terra," the Duke of Mansfield steadied her with gentle, wrinkled old hands. "Are you alright?"

"Charles!" she stammered. "I'm terribly sorry, I don't know what came over me," Terra quickly apologized.

Charles smiled. "No harm done, I take it that you just returned from the horrifying scene?"

Terra pressed her lips tightly together, afraid of her own voice, and nodded.

"Such a display of barbarism, these traitors. Damn the Maverick and his men, to think we once thought of them as fellow peers!"

She glanced around and swallowed the lump in her throat. "Does everyone already know?"

"Of course, news as such would spread like the wildfire," Charles frowned. "It is a sad day indeed, that such a fine young man was taken in his prime. He was a magnificent leader, a genius who was unappreciated for much of his career."

Terra nodded half-heartedly. Her eyes stayed glued to the ground. She had only scraped the surface of what Remiel Lilienthal had done for the Empire; her knowledge of those matters had been cut short because Anson told her there was too much to learn. The House of Lilienthal was a nexus of power that had been concentrated in a single individual. To lose that had been unthinkable.

"You are worried," Charles remarked.

Terra nodded, barely catching herself before she snapped at the obviousness of his comment. Manners, she reminded herself. Charles was still the Duke of Mansfield, no matter how he much he resembled a doting grandfather, it was not wise of her to relax in his company.

"It's unavoidable, considering..." Charles trailed off. "Still, you must be strong. The common man depends on you and I. They will not panic so long as we do not panic. We must always guard our emotions."

"Of course, Charles," Terra took out a handkerchief and dabbled at her cheeks. "I apologize for bothering your Lordship."

"Please! It is fate that I was here to receive you during your time of need," Charles gestured around them. Terra suddenly realized that despite being in the heart of the Imperial camp, there was not a soul within earshot. The Duke of Mansfield's soldiers along with Terra's personal escort had cleared a protective cordon around their charges. "My faith has been shaky as of late, but I remained true and I still believe."

Terra blinked blankly.

"Lady Terra, I understand at last why we met. It had seemed like such coincidence, but truly this was a meeting ordained by the Gods."

Terra glanced quizzically at the old nobleman's face. He smiled softly at her. "What do you mean?" she asked.

Charles gestured around them, his grandiose cape swirling about as he did so. "All this, the Empire, teeters at the brink of further warfare. To lose a leader such as Lord Lilienthal, at this hour, should have been the killing stroke. However, we, despite the vast number of differences between our two stations, have been brought together not once, but twice on this historic day!"

Terra shook her head. "I still don't understand."

Charles smiled thinly. "Remiel must have known the risk. That is why he sent you to hold Anson Tilton's leash for so long, that is why he took your hand as his consort at the Messis Luna. All is clear to me at last."

"What are you talking about, Charles?" Terra exasperated.

The Duke of Mansfield bowed deeply once more. "Why Lady Terra," he said after he readjusted his hat again. "It is simple, really! Lord Lilienthal intended for you to replace him as the voice of the nobility. And after witnessing your glorious actions, I fully agree with the late Governor's intent. You have my wholehearted support, Lady Terra, as well as all the nobility!"

"Charles," Terra felt shivers run down her back. "Please tell me you're joking."

The Duke of Mansfield glared at her, reminding her that he was still an aristocrat that was not to be trifled with. "I do not 'joke' about such things, Lady Terra. You have my blessing, and I will ensure that all shall know what I have decided. The House will not opppose you."

Terra found it hard to breathe. What was going on here?

"The Empire shall grow strong with your assistance!" With that, the Duke of Mansfield left her alone, his bodyguards trailing after him. Terra wiped away the wetness in her eyes with her almost-forgotten handkerchief, frozen in mute astonishment. Her assistance? His support?

Terra found herself staring at the back of the elder noblemen, towards the west. Warm rays of afternoon light gently caressed her face. Something had stirred deep within her soul and the feeling worried her.

For some reason, it felt like the sun was still rising.

---

Sabin found Siana standing outside, alone in the cold. Her cloak was loose and snowflakes were piling on top of her. She was staring into the east.

Towards the Empire.

"The Elders have accepted my offer," Sabin remarked. He followed her gaze, but there was little to see. The sky was grey with clouds and flakes of snow poured endlessly from the heavens. Furthermore, they were in a valley. Even had it not been snowing and the thick forest before them was cleared of its canopy, she still wouldn't have had a view of anything! "They also said they understand your outburst," he added.

Siana shifted and the snow that had piled upon her shoulders and hair cascaded to the ground. "That's kind of them," she murmured indifferently.

Sabin frowned. "Don't tell me you disagree."

Siana shook her head. "No, you did the right thing," she sighed. "We had no choice... still," she sighed and turned around and faced him. There were streaks of dirt running down her cheeks.

She had been crying.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Sabin asked, concerned. He knew she wasn't injured.

Siana gestured back to the village of Dorset. It was a tiny little place, located at the bottom of a valley far away from civilization. Equally distant from both the Empire and the former Kingdom of Maranda, it had been neglected and forgotten. There were barely two hundred people, many of whom were farmers, though some were of the skilled trade by inheritance.

They had been utterly defenceless against an organized military squadron. They could fight off the occasional monster of course, but men of the Empire? Even the smallest unit could have slaughtered the inhabitants with relative ease.

"I just wish we didn't have to teach these people how to fight," Siana whispered. "They seem so happy, so naive..."

They had been overjoyed to see their children back and accepted Sabin and Siana with open arms. There had been a feast that very night and afterward, Sabin had approached the Elders to try to learn what the Guild and the Empire had intended with Dorset.

"Everyone knows how to fight, they've survived for generations despite monsters," Sabin pointed out.

Siana's lip quivered. "It's the Empire's fault that they were hurt... my people brought this upon them..."

Sabin remained silent. He couldn't console her. It was, after all, the truth.

Imperial troops had arrived in Dorset only a few weeks ago. They had declared the village to be theirs, and then forced the people to swear allegiance to the Guild and the Empire it represented. The people of Dorset had been weary of the strangers and eventually, the elders described how the troops had taken the children. There had been a brief struggle, but they couldn't fight trained military men. Ben's father had been crippled when he tried to fight back, losing his arm and almost his life. How ecstatic he had been when he saw his son back!

Sabin felt there had been no choice. He had offered to help protect the village. In addition to their skill, they could train a small militia to keep the valley clear of future Imperial aggression. After Sabin had offered, Siana had been quick to convince the elders of Dorset. She revealed that she was a former Imperial pilot and explained how the army worked.

For whatever reason they wanted children, Dorset was still too far away for any serious force to be sent to pacify resistance. In addition, the valley was difficult to cross as well. In the summer, the forest was overgrown and roads would disappear as quickly as they were made. In the winter, snow piled up and swallowed men alive. Crossing the wilderness, Sabin and Siana had almost died twice, and they had been lead by children that grew up in the area.

Siana concluded that the Empire would only send a token force. If a squad disappeared, they might send another. But they would quickly lose their nerve with every additional soldier lost. Dorset was simply unimportant.

The only danger was if some arrogant commander made it his personal mission to avenge his fallen men. But that was an easy thing to fix; they just had to make it seem like the squads had died from the journey and not by the villagers. It wouldn't be hard; the militia was going to create traps wherever it seemed safe to descend into the valley.

Sabin had deferred to her superior understanding of the matter, but had been left alone in the company of old men when she suddenly stalked off, overcome with emotion. He had been left bewildered by her display.

"Sabin... be honest with me," Siana eyes were downcast, staring at his feet.

The son of Figaro, far away from his element and deeply missing his friends, looked into the former-Imperial pilot's eyes. "What is it, Siana?" he asked.

"Why did you come back for me?"

Sabin inadvertently inhaled a snowflake. He coughed.

Siana's pale lips twisted. She turned her back to him, looking east again. "We've never really been friends. Why would you risk your life to come back for me? I was the one that brought Godric down on us, separating you from your brother, the Relentless and the other Returners."

He was silent. Sabin didn't know how to answer her.

Her voice trembled. "You hate me," she whispered. Her arms wrapped around her waist protectively. She wandered forward, further away from Dorset.

"Siana," Sabin said. "Don't-"

Siana spun around, twin trails of moisture running down her cheeks. "Don't what? Go back to the people that tortured me for months on end? Go back to the people that think I'm a traitor, or my former-friends that would gladly throw me to the courts and laugh as they sentence me to death?"

She pointed east. "Do you think I want to go back to the dark, evil child-stealing baby-eating Empire that I spent my entire life protecting?"

"Well? Don't what?" Siana screamed. "Don't what?"

She was panting hard, ragged gasps in the chilly winter air almost hiding her angry tear-soaked face.

"I don't hate you," Sabin muttered under his breath.

"What?"

Sabin took a few steps closer to her. "I said... I said I'm sorry," he put his hands on her shoulders. "I'm sorry you had to find out the truth like this."

Siana tore herself from his grasp. "Damn you!" she shouted.

Sabin had been expecting to be slapped, but it never came. Instead, Siana just glared at him and panted. Sabin offered nothing in response; he just impotently stared back wondering how to calm her down. Eventually, his indecisiveness was rewarded and the anger bled from her face. She slouched dejectedly, slinking away with no destination in mind.

As he watched her walk away, Sabin thought about how she had been abandoned and betrayed by something she had trusted. For the first time, he reflected on the airship crash. Enforced discipline had allowed him to forget that disaster, so that he would no longer have to feel the heat of the Blackjack's burning corpse. So that he would not have to think of all that was lost on that day.

So that Sabin would not have to think about... him.

But watching the once-fiery ex-pilot wander off... the son of Figaro realized he was not the only person out of their element and sorely missing close friends.

"Siana," Sabin jogged beside her once more. "Listen, I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking... if it's any consolation, I never thought about leaving you behind. Not once."

Siana was unresponsive.

"These people need us, Siana. Without our help, the Guild's forces will come back looking for their dead allies. When they find out what happened, they'll want revenge. The people of Dorset need us to protect them.

"You keep saying 'us'," Siana's voice was weak, trembling with each syllable. "But we both know you don't need me. I'll just get us into more trouble. I'll just get us killed."

"I don't know how these troops think, how they'll react and what it'll take to stop the Guild from sending more squadrons," Sabin answered. He grabbed her shoulder and pulled her around to face him. "We're a team, you understand? I can't do this without you."

Siana stared blankly at him. Aside from their breathing, the world was silent.

Behind Sabin's muscular form, the village of Dorset looked like a scene straight from a painting. Tiny little straw huts, whips of smoke rising in the air, all covered by a blanket of pristine white snow. A snowman had been built in front of the nearest house, an armless-father and reunited son making the best of their time together.

Siana lip quivered. "Alright Sabin. I'll stay in Dorset," she whispered in defeat.

Sabin Rene Figaro let go of the ex-Imperial's shoulder. "Thank you."

They walked back into the village together, neither sure of the future to come.

---

Locke arrived in a stupor, his heart still pounding viciously as he looked around the debris marking the site of Remiel Lilienthal's death. He frowned, Terra was nowhere in sight.

In fact, Locke did not recognize anyone. He couldn't pick out Anson or Karen, and even Sherwood was nowhere to be seen.

"Damn," he growled. He walked back into the cluster of trees where he had tethered his chocobo. "The day just can't get any worse," he mumbled. He knew he had to find Terra quickly. As much as he dreaded the likely fight, he had to make amends. Then Locke cursed himself, saying something like 'it can't get any worse' aloud was bad luck.

Fortunately, his chocobo was still waiting patiently where he left it. But the frown on Locke's face deepened when he saw that there was an Imperial Guardsman gripping the reins of the other bird beside his. After a few choice curses directed at the entirety of the Imperial Guard, Locke did his best to hide his discontent. He kept his head down and tried not to make eye-contact with the soldier.

"Hey there."

Damn. "Hi," Locke answered as non-committally as he could. He took the reins of his chocobo.

"You are Locke Cole, aren't you?"

A deep sigh. "Yes I am," Locke grumbled.

"The Major asked me to escort you back."

Locke glanced up at the Imperial Guardsman, doing his best not to look at the twin swords that he hated so much. The black trim of the leather armor was still a telling sign though. "Thanks, but I won't need it," he said before hesitating in confusion.

There was something odd. The Guardsman was young, younger than Locke certainly. He was clean shaven and his red hair was short and cropped. Locke knew he had never seen the soldier, yet there was something strangely familiar about him.

"Unfortunately, I don't take orders from you. So you're having me as company whether you like it or not," the soldier held out his hand. "I'm Stefan," he introduced himself.

Locke sighed and shook Stefan's hand. "Locke, though you already knew that."

"Well-"

"Hey! Malsbury! Stop dawdling! The Major wants that civilian back ASAP!" came a shout from the direction of the camp.

"Yes sir!" Stefan shouted back. He turned back to Locke. "Come on! We're wasting time here."

Locke's mouth was open. "Malsbury?" he echoed.

Stefan nodded as he mounted his chocobo. "Let's move before there's more trouble."

Locke shook his head in disbelief. "Was Davis your father?"

The young Imperial Guardsman froze. He looked down in surprise. "You knew my father?"

Jumping on his own chocobo, Locke grabbed the reins and hustled the bird into action. Stefan quickly followed beside him. "You knew my father?" he shouted again.

"Yeah," Locke laughed. He shook his head... it really was a small world. "Yeah, I knew your father."

"Where is he? He's been missing since the Long Night and I haven't heard a word from his unit! He was stationed in Albrook, right? And you're with Lady Terra, so you had to have come from Albrook," the hope in his voice was audible, even above the sound of their running chocobos.

Locke didn't know how to answer, and despite the surprise, his mind was still on other matters. What could he say to Terra? He had to apologize, but if he phrased it wrong... Locke remained deep in thought.

But his silence was understood and the light in Stefan's eyes dimmed. "He's dead, isn't he? I feared as much."

Locke turned to a kid he hardly knew, the son of a father he owed his life to.

"He died fighting for what he believed in," Locke answered. "He was a warrior until the end; best Magitek Pilot I've ever met. I owe him my life."

Stefan mumbled something to himself.

Locke looked the Imperial Guardsman up and down, his hatred for the black trim about the brown leather seeming to seep away. The kid looked so dejected... his eyes alternated from Stefan and the rapidly approaching Imperial Camp. He made up his mind.

"Come on, there are traitors to hunt down," Locke said as he pulled on the reins of his chocobo. The two riders stopped in the middle of the road. "We should secure this area first instead of gathering in one place."

"The Major-"

"We'll make sure there's no danger and in the meantime, I'll tell you about your father," Locke smiled when he saw the look on Stefan's face. He pressed his advantage. "There's nothing to do back at the camp anyhow, we'll just be another couple bodies getting in the way. Out here, we can do what's necessary to protect them."

Stefan nodded in agreement. "Alright, but afterwards, I'm taking you to the Major and I don't want any complaints," he said as he convinced himself.

Afterwards... yes, perhaps after the day had ended. Locke took one last glance at the shapes of the Imperial Camp behind him.

"Good luck," he whispered. "I know you'll do it. I believe in you."

Locke hustled his chocobo and rode away.

---

Terra marched into central tent, the meeting place was once again covered by canvas and surrounded by dozens of elite soldiers. Terra knew by the way these men acted -- with incredible discipline; focused on nothing but their job -- that this time, absolutely no liberties were being taken in terms of security. They were all cut from the same cloth, plate armor and blades galore protecting that which was most important.

A number of officers were within the tent, many in uniforms that Terra recognized belonging to support staff rather than soldiers. The table was overflowing with papers and Danielle stood in the middle of the chaos, giving commands and acting like the General she was.

She did not see Anson or Karen, but Farin was standing off to the side. His plate armor was still on, and he looked incredibly bored as the staff sergeant beside him droned on. Terra walked directly towards him.

A smile spread on the Major-General's face and Farin shoed the officer away. "I heard you went out there, I do hope it was safe," he said, welcoming her with open arms.

Terra shrugged. "I wouldn't worry," she answered before gesturing at the mass of officers. "What's going on here?"

"Danielle is doing her best to keep the men in line. After rumours spread that General Lilienthal was dead, a couple brutal fights erupted. They weren't contained in time and it spread everywhere. We had some motivated commanders fighting their own miniature war for a while. It's been chaos for the last couple of hours," Farin shook his head.

"It's already falling apart," Terra whispered. "No..."

"Well, I'm not out there taking care of errant officers, so it's not as bad as it sounds," Farin quickly pointed out. "However, you're right... we've already sent General Cassidy to take field command. Things are getting bad; it's a sign of what's to come," he sighed deeply and shook his head. "I'm not sure what we can do now. General Alysworth has eluded all attempts at contacting her. We're already planning on moving this command centre, just in case."

Terra moaned. "There has to be something we can do, Farin!"

"Yeah, well I thought General Alysworth was one of the most honest two-stars I've ever met. I can't see her preemptively attacking, but Danielle certainly won't risk it. And it's not as if your special friend is any better."

"Special friend?"

"Anson Tilton? The Emperor?"

"He's only First Citizen," Terra corrected. "What do you mean by that, anyways?"

"We've also been unable to contact him! I don't like what's happening at all. Treachery abound, we've got numerous brushfires spreading all over the place... if you want, you can come back to Tzen with us. You'll be safe there."

Terra shook her head. "No!" she said passionately. "We're not abandoning the truce, not after we've come so far!"

"There not much choice, Terra. Your Kingly-friend sailed back to his country a couple months ago, but I do believe Cyan Garamonde is still within the province. I doubt he and Relm would complain if you decided to stay with them... you would be safe. This isn't your fight anyhow."

"Farin! You can't be serious! What about peace?"

"What can we do?" Farin sighed. "We've made so many sacrifices, so many amends..." he gritted his teeth. "I've killed my own people, pushed my own morals into a corner and fought the good fight." His fist slammed against one of the rods holding the tent up. "We've endured, but we still can't calm the storm!" He shook his head in frustration. "Damn it all!"

"General!"

Both turned around as a familiar shaven-head came into view. Completely protected by plate-armor and with enough weapons strapped to his body to act as an armory for two dozen, Donnach ran into the tent breathless. In one hand was his helmet, in the other was his unsheathed blade.

"Report, Captain!" Farin ordered. "And put that sword away! You know better!" Behind them, Danielle and her staff only looked up for a moment, and then returned to their chaotic work.

"General Alysworth and Anson Tilton are coming," Donnach's face was a mask of surprise. He slammed his blade back into its sheath. "They're surrounded by escorts: Knights of Odin and Imperial Guardsmen are both out there, sir!"

That got the attention of every officer in the tent. "Are they hostile?" Danielle barked.

"Weapons aren't drawn... yet," Donnach answered.

The silence lasted for a split-second, and then the tent was a flurry of activity. Danielle had already anticipated this and her staff began to orderly clear the table of their charts, maps and reports. They filed out the back of the tent as orderly as possible given the situation.

Danielle strolled to Farin's side. She checked that her sword was clear in its scabbard. "Farin?"

"Donnach, get your men into position immediately! I want you to look like an honour guard but those chocobos better be ready if things get heated."

A salute and then the bald man ran off.

Farin glanced over to Terra. "Thanks for healing my arm again -- I'll probably need them both for the fight to come -- but I think it's time you find a safer place."

Terra shook her head. "Anson is out there," she answered darkly. "We will have peace, I swear it."

Danielle raised an eyebrow. "Very well," she said, interrupting Farin and decisively settling the matter. She twirled a lock of red-hair about her finger. "Let's go."

The three marched out of the tent and into the winter air. The skies were grey and there seemed to be a muted shadow around them; what sunlight Terra had seen before was completely gone. The blockades that had protected the tent were no longer, for those men had stopped cooperating with one another and turned inwards instead.

Donnach stood at the head of some three dozen heavily-armed men, each wearing plate-armor with their lances held high and shields ready. Terra could see there were several hundred more behind the tent -- including the gigantic Baldric -- escorting Danielle's staff away, and the unmistakable sound of Magitek Armors powering up was all around them.

War was but a single gesture away.

Karen and Anson stood side-by-side, a good sign to Terra, but it drained the colour from Farin's face. Danielle was unreadable, but Terra could sense that she was reaching deep into her own powers. The female General had many spells prepared.

"Karen," Danielle growled as the three leaders of their respective factions, in addition to Terra, met in a no-man's land centred between the Imperial Armed Forces' most elite units. "What's the meaning of this?"

The air was thick with tension. Terra caught Anson looking at her though, even in a time like this! His soft brown eyes conveyed his apologizes.

Chills ran down her back as her eyes widened in fear. What was he sorry for now?

Her mind stretched out and recoiled, the number of Magitek Knights present was absolutely unbelievable! There were dozens, perhaps even numbering over a hundred soldiers capable of spell-casting. It must have represented a significant fraction of the Empire's magical capabilities, because Terra had never seen so many gathered in a single place before. She doubted there were more than a thousand ever created... and how many of those still lived, no one knew.

That so many were gathered together... Terra shuddered. They were all going to die. War was about to erupt and a destructive battle to be fought, the likes of which had not graced the world since the War of the Magi.

Anson Tilton's eyes were still locked on hers.

What are you doing Anson! She screamed back inaudibly.

Farin's hands hovered above his hilt. Danielle's spells began to take form. Terra held her breath as the power within rumbled to life. Peace, they would have peace!

Major-General Karen Alysworth lowered to one knee. Her sword was held out in offering.

"Hail Imperatrix," she declared.

Danielle's mouth dropped open.

First Citizen Anson Tilton knelt as well, his head bowed. "Hail Imperatrix," he proclaimed. "Thou Conquerest."

"No..." Danielle whispered.

Several thousand soldiers ready to slay each other looked at their leaders in shock. There was silence, real silence, in the war-zone that was the Empire.

And Major-General Farin Starson grinned as he lowered to his knees as well. "Hail, Danielle Imperatrix! Thou Conquerest!" his voice thundered as he laid down his sword before her.

It spread: as Danielle's staff followed their executive officer's actions, as Anson Tilton's circle of followers knelt and the Imperial Guard laid down their arms, as the Knights of Odin swore allegiance to a new commander, it spread at last like a wildfire; several thousand of the highest ranking men and women of the Imperial Army all of one mind at last.

"Hail Danielle Imperatrix!"

"Thou Conquerest!"

And finally, there was but one person still standing. A woman that had been seen by tens of thousands standing beside dead legends; by the honourable Leo Christophe, the pure-hearted Celes Chere, and the august Emperor Gestahl. A woman whose actions had widely been accepted as the reason for the temporary truce.

Terra Branford. The Sophis.

She saw Anson's eyes again. He had known. He knew that she represented the nobility, for so said the Duke of Mansfield, Earl of Castille. Anson had been one of the few that had been told.

Her eyes drifted over to Danielle Meras. Terra swallowed as she made her decision.

Wings were spread wide, white feathers exploding outwards as a collective gasp came from the thousands that were witness to the appearance of an angel. Purple hair fluttered against the wind and crimson eyes glowed brightly.

Her knees touched the snow.

"Hail Danielle Imperatrix, Lady and Empress regnant."  



	18. The Sleeping Giant

**The Eighteenth Chapter - The Sleeping Giant**

Cyan Garamonde opened his eyes.

Sunlight streamed through the canopy of the forest, sparkling in clear droplets still trickling off bright green leaves. The rain had stopped at last, leaving a clean scent and cool breeze. The steady sound of running water could be heard farther away; the stream nearby would be too fast-running to ford for a few days to come. The delightful smell of flower blossoms wafted beneath his nose. He sighed in contentment.

Spring.

He stood slowly, relaxed. The fields were muddy, but already the wild grasses had taken to the light of the sun. They curled towards the warmth, no longer burdened by snow that had buried them for the winter months. A faint memory floated to the surface, a vision of budding daffodils and bare-footed youths dashing along the damp ground. They danced through the meadows and he followed them into tasselled orchids filled with ripe fruits.

"Ha!"

Cyan left one daydream for another. His heavy winter boots dug deep into the muddy path, the last Knight of Doma attired in grimy pants and a dirty tunic. There were no children dancing through the gardens of his homeland, but one could not dote on the past forever. He smiled wistfully at the scene in front of him.

Relm's feet were spread for balance atop a precarious old tree trunk. The wooden column tipped from side to side like a child's see-saw as Relm moved to and fro. Her brow was coated with sweat, her shoulder-length blond hair drawn back into a ponytail that bounced up and down. She was dressed similarly, a comfortable loose-fitting combination that took advantage of the cool weather.

Her arms flexed, muscles flexing as her blade slashed falling leaves in half.

Cyan was silent, for Relm's back was turned and she had yet to notice him. He scrutinized her footwork, admiring her movements and noting the possible improvements. He wiped the smile off his face when she finally spun about.

"Uncle," Relm wiped the sweat off her brow and casually hopped off the fallen tree. "What did you think? Better?"

Of course she had noticed him, Cyan chided his own inattentiveness. "You would do better to continue your mediation, instead of dancing upon rotten wood," he answered her.

Relm frowned. She towelled off her face and tossed the rag over her shoulder. "I slept fine last night, even though the rain didn't stop. I don't need anymore rest," she retorted as she sheathed the sword. "Anyhow, I think it's time to play another game," she bubbled with excitement.

Cyan shook his head. "I asked you to mediate for an hour yet you practice your blade again. Chess is out of the question," he declared. He waited for the inevitable pouting to begin.

Instead, Relm sighed. "Fine," she growled. As she passed him, she handed back his sword with a reluctant, frustrated look.

Cyan watched her walk away, briefly wondering whether she had learned or was too impatient to even bother arguing with him. He sighed, knowing it was probably the latter. Perhaps he had been wrong. He always wondered whether he had made a mistake; she was a good student, quick to learn and always energetic. Yet she was ill-disciplined, despising authority and rife with snappy comebacks.

It was just the age, Cyan surmised. She would grow out of it. For now, he would have to accept her for who she was.

"Relm," Cyan stopped her in her tracks. She turned on her heel, simmering in anger but hiding it as best she could. "You're still putting too much weight on the right foot. Be weary of that mistake, for you continue to depend on your dominant side."

She frowned as she went over her motions mentally, and then nodded in agreement. "Of course," she sighed disappointingly. "Anything else?"

"You're doing well," Cyan answered. "There is only one oversight on your part that must be corrected."

Relm pressed her lips together as she tried to guess his meaning. "Am I still swinging too slowly? I just need more practice..."

"Prudence, dear one," Cyan sighed. "You must learn prudence."

She stuck out her tongue and slipped away.

Cyan growled under his breath and headed back to the cottage. The small, single-roomed dwelling had been expanded over the course of the winter. Cyan had worked hard to build a warm shelter for their faithful chocobo. He had expanded the fireplace. It had been immensely fortunate that most of the tools that had been left by the cabin's former owner had still been around when they returned.

The forests near the Tzen Mountains were peaceful. Cyan felt safe here, even if they had initially stumbled across the deserted dwelling through sheer luck and acted no better than the common bandit. He had thanked the former resident more than once for his foresight; dry firewood, healthy canned foods, everything necessary to survive the winter had been well prepared. What little had been missing, Cyan bought from the local villages such as Nestil.

The cabin was home now.

Cyan laid his weapon aside, in the corner beside a neglected longsword. He had bought it for Relm and though decent for an Imperial weapon, she still preferred his Doma-forged blade whenever they sparred. Though picky, at least she knew quality when she handled it.

He searched through his things, tossed rations and medicines into his pack, and then eyed the armor vest hanging off the wall. It was clean and well-maintained, but totally unnecessary throughout the winter. With a sigh, Cyan donned the leather and packed an extra change of clothes. He glanced around the cozy hut that had sheltered them, knowing that he had been beyond fortunate to discover such a dwelling, and then picked up his sword and scabbard. He replaced the weapon by his hip with habitual grace -- the familiar weight was a comfort -- while his eyes wandered across the messy piles upon the floor.

He hesitated at the sight of some dried, salted beef that had been carefully packed away and preserved. Cyan sighed deeply.

Outside, Relm was sitting cross-legged with her back to him. She was perched atop a rock, safely above the muddy ground. "News, uncle!" she declared as she turned around with a big smile. Then she saw that he was ready to travel, his pack already shouldered and hers in his hand. The self-assured cockiness vanished and she pouted. "You already knew!"

Cyan set her backpack against the cabin wall. "Nothing lasts forever," he answered vaguely. He wiped away moisture in his eyes.

Relm jumped off the rock. "If you already knew, why didn't you tell me? And why bother with my spells?"

"I have spent decades without magic, dear one," he straightened. "It would be folly for me to depend solely on your spells, but I would be equally foolish if I refused to acknowledge its benefits."

Relm pursed her lips together. "I bet you don't know what's coming though," she pointed out.

"A single man," Cyan answered.

"Wrong!" Relm declared with gusto.

"Upon two chocobos," Cyan finished with a raised eyebrow.

Relm grin faded away again. "Bah!" she grumbled.

Their cabin was quite far from the main trail, an old road wide-enough for chocobos that wound its way through the Tzen Mountains. The trail leading to their humble home had been hidden by the growing forest and neither Cyan nor Relm bothered cutting down the vegetation. It served to hide them from the outside world, which was important as neither especially cared for visitors. Their friends would find them regardless of the ruse.

"Who do you think it is?" Relm asked. "It could be Edgar or Gramps; it's been a couple months since they sailed away so that should be enough time for a coup, right?"

The sword by his side seemed heavier. "I can't imagine who else could have found us," he answered. At the same time, it didn't answer how Edgar could have tracked them down. Cyan knew it was best to assume that the visitor was unfriendly.

"Dear one, please see to the chocobo."

Relm gave him a dirty look. "I want to be here if it's dangerous. You'd need my help."

"Just ready our fine bird, we may need a quick escape," Cyan explained in a deeper voice. "The sooner you get that done, the sooner you can be back here."

As Relm hurried off, the Knight of Doma checked that his sword was clear in its scabbard. He had taken great pains to hide them away from the rest of the world, and he doubted their guest was either Edgar or Strago. Those two would have been smarter in their approach. No, this was undesirable and unexpected.

Cyan's plan had been to wait out the war and barter for passage back to the Northern Continent. He tried to keep up with the happenings of the Empire through Nestil, but then decided against it due to the fierce snow-squalls and his personal doubts. While Garrett would know how the Empire fared -- whether or not it was still embroiled in warfare or if its armies had collapsed and the iron fist broken -- it was unlikely that the Civil War would find any conclusion within the next few years.

Not even the blacksmith or the doctor knew that he was still in the Province of Tzen. He had kept a low profile all winter.

Cyan Garamonde stood in the middle of the trail leading to their cabin and heard the sound of footsteps. There was little point in stealth, the forest was not dense enough to offer a hiding spot and Cyan felt it unnecessary given the odds.

Leading two chocobos by rope, brown leather stalked around the bend in the trail.

"Paisy!"

Relm raised her arms in surprise, letting go of the reins to their chocobo. The bird was a patient, disciplined creature though. It stayed put as the little girl dashed through the muddy trail. She splashed through puddles and skidded to a stop in front of the boyish Imperial officer.

"Relm," Paisley raised his hand and touched his brow, a polite gesture that Cyan had never seen. The familiar Imperial Lieutenant laughed, returning the hug Relm that gave him.

"Paisley," Cyan began suspiciously. He noted that there were two mounts, yet only one rider. His instincts screamed danger.

"Sir Cyan," Paisley saluted after Relm let go of him. "It's good to see you well." He caught the questioning look on the Knight's face. "Ah, I'm the only one here. The second chocobo was for you, though I can see that you kept yours through the winter. That couldn't have been easy, there's not that much for the bird to eat in these forests when they're frozen over," Paisley gestured around them.

"'twas difficult yet manageable," Cyan answered. "To what do we owe the pleasure, Lieutenant?"

Paisley chuckled. "Straight to the point? I expected you to ask how I found you."

Relm pulled on the Imperial officer's pant leg. "Come on, we'll get you something to eat, you must be starving."

"Not at all, but thanks for the offer," Paisley answered. "It also looks like you're both ready to travel, so we best be on our way."

Cyan folded his arms. "What is the meaning of this, Paisley?" he asked again. "I am curious as to how the Empire found us, but I would prefer to know why you are here."

Paisley shrugged. "Just because I thought you would ask doesn't mean I have an answer," he said with a wink. "As for why I'm here? Well, it appears that I am uniquely qualified for the role of a messenger."

"That seems counter-intuitive for an officer of your ranking," Cyan remarked.

"Yes, well I am both unimportant enough to be lacking a command that desperately requires my day to day oversight, yet at the same time, important enough to not be slain by yourself, Sir Cyan."

Cyan grunted. "And your message?"

"You have been summoned to Tzen," Paisley pulled a leather-bound envelope from his pocket. "The official notice is here, but I do believe the terminology is that they request and require your presence at the capital."

"What does Danielle want with us?" Relm interjected.

Cyan nodded. "That is the question, isn't it? After all, I see no reason why we should respect an Imperial summon."

"True," Paisley agreed. "However, I should point out that it is Brigadier-General Terrance Cassidy who has summoned you-"

"Is Farin with him?" Relm interrupted.

Cyan growled. "Patience, dear one, let him finish."

Paisley saw the frown on Relm's face. "Unfortunately, General Starson is otherwise occupied and isn't even in the province at the moment," Paisley answered her question.

Relm nodded dejectedly. "Too bad," she mumbled.

Paisley shrugged. "As for General Cassidy, the details of this message were hidden from even myself," Paisley handed the envelope to Cyan. "I was ordered to bring a chocobo and escort both of you post-haste to the capital. I suggested coming alone, I figured it would be safer if I didn't show up with a squadron of soldiers."

"So you are unware of what Danielle's lackey desires?" Cyan asked with a leery glance at the boyish Lieutenant. "I see no reason to speak with a mere servant."

Paisley cleared his throat. "General Cassidy is fully independent and commands the armies that protect this province. He's more than a servant of the Empire; he's pretty much the Governor of Tzen now. The Empress already refers to him as such; he just hasn't taken the title officially."

"Empress?" Cyan whispered.

Paisley blinked blankly, confused by Cyan's expression. Suddenly, his eyes grew wide. "Of course, you've been here all winter! I can't believe it, you must have heard the news at some point. How could you have remained totally isolated? There's no farming in the winter so you had to have visited to the villages for food... and then, I mean... news travels fast. How could you not have known? "

Shivers traveled down Cyan Garamonde's back. "Know what?" he demanded.

Paisley straightened. His voice took the authority of a herald, deep and booming. The pride in his voice was palpable.

"There is a new leader sitting upon the throne of Vector, Commander of the Armies and Fleets of the Empire. She is Lady and Imperiatrix, the Empress Danielle the First, of the House of Meras."

---

Edgar Roni Figaro ascended the damp wooden steps with grace. His cape fluttered behind him and he wore attire befitting of the formalities that were to come. Edgar had left his armor behind and instead the traditional colours of his House and Kingdom shone brightly under the warm, midday sun.

The gathered sailors and soldiers straightened in his presence.

Edgar clasped his hands behind his back and stood tall upon the quarterdeck beside the imposing blue-coat and gold-trim of the vessel's ranking naval officer. With a wide-brimmed hat, long hair pulled back and grim attitude, Sir Douglas Pellyn was confident in his fleet's ability to perform the task necessitated of it.

"Your eminence," Douglas started respectfully. "He is boarding as we speak."

Edgar took a deep breath. "Are you sure of his identity? I don't want another surprise."

He shifted his feet uncomfortably. "There is little to mistake, for your advisor confirmed it," Douglas answered.

Edgar glanced behind him. Beside the congregation of the battleship's lieutenants, Strago Magus winked knowingly. The lore-master was wearing a blue coat similar to the Admiral's, though it was without the gold trim or the crests of the naval officer's high station. His beard was freshly trimmed, his white hair shimmered, and the smile on his face was so wide it almost looked painful.

"Very well, who else is with him?" Edgar asked.

"There are few of any recognizable importance, likely sailors that are considered expendable. However, there is a child," Douglas answered.

High-pitched whistling welcomed the important guests. Edgar's attention was directed towards the man climbing onto the ship. He broke into a huge smile when he saw who it was.

"Sir Cyan Garamonde of the Kingdom of Doma," Douglas hollered from the raised quarterdeck. He gestured. "Welcome aboard the Allegiance, flagship of the Figarian Navy!"

Cyan looked around the battleship, surrounded by some three dozen friendly sailors with marines maintaining guard nearby. "'tis an honour," he replied gruffly. "To whom do I have the pleasure?"

"I am Admiral Douglas Pellyn," was the slightly embarrassed answer; Douglas cursed himself for forgetting his manners.

Beside the Commander of the Fleet, Edgar smiled. "Sir Cyan!" he called out formally.

Douglas raised an eyebrow and gestured beside him. "His eminence: the King of Figaro."

---

An Admiral's meeting room was a large, expansive place; even though it was aboard a warship in which comfort was no priority. However, it was where great strategies were planned and renowned Captains gathered, so aboard the flagship of the Figarian Navy, there was room for such excess. A finely lacquered table of golden wood -- likely a traditional colour and perhaps a symbol of sorts -- was surrounded by equally exquisite chairs. They were a glossy copper in shade and despite a salty sea breeze, the soft smell of hazelnut wafted about the room.

Typically used for matters of the gravest importance, the mood around the table was anything but. Four hardened, battle-scarred men had their concentrations focused upon a bubbling mass of energy bouncing up and down. Relm Arrowny was all smiles as she sat in a chair that was almost older than she was. She and her grandfather had exchanged heartfelt hugs on the quarterdeck already, but they had been hustled into the meeting room shortly thereafter.

"Well then, perhaps a meal could be prepared while we wait for our guests from the Borealis?" Douglas glanced over at the child in their presence. "My steward is one of the best in the fleet, an Admiral's privilege of course," he winked.

Relm chuckled. "I'm pretty hungry, they didn't offer us anything in Tzen. So rude..." she trailed off with a sly smile to calm Cyan's frown.

"Imperial hospitality does leave something to be desired," Edgar offered. It provoked a chorus of polite laughter, though it had not been intended as a joke. "Perhaps some biscuits to tide us over for now," he suggested.

"Too dry," Relm retorted almost immediately. She smiled shyly at the Admiral, seeming almost apologetic for refuting the King.

"Well perhaps a stew is in order, perhaps beef?" Douglas inquired. It was lavish, almost wasteful aboard a ship whose chances of re-supply were of a questionable nature. Cyan and Edgar exchanged a look; Strago's granddaughter certainly had an effect upon the unwary.

Relm nodded enthusiastically. "I haven't had any beef since fall!"

"Then so it is!" Douglas excused himself and stepped out the room.

"Relm..." both Cyan and Strago began at the same time. The two men looked at each other in surprise and then burst out in laughter.

"I see that living with Cyan for several months still hasn't taught you any discipline," Strago said after recovering. "Incorrigible child!"

Relm stuck out her tongue.

"It's good to see both of you safe," Edgar said as he stood from his seat. "Strago might be embarrassed to admit it, but he was worried sick the entire time."

Strago shot a friendly glare at Edgar. "Now let's not start outing each other's secrets, lest the Admiral discovers his King's inhibitions."

"Fair enough," Edgar replied as Cyan laughed. He stood over Relm and rustled her hair. "What is this, are you growing out your hair? I dare say you would look fantastic with golden locks halfway down your back."

Relm rolled away from Edgar in jest, slipping out of his grasp and dancing away despite the rocking of the Allegiance. She jumped onto the windowsill overlooking the Figarian Fleet and crossed her legs. "What did the grumpy old man just say about you?" she stuck out her tongue again.

Strago growled at his unruly granddaughter as Cyan suppressed his laughter. Edgar shook his head. "What a sharp tongue," he remarked as he eyed her. Edgar pressed his lips together and tried to eyeball her height. "How much have you grown? Sheesh, at this rate, you'll be taller than me in another year!"

Relm crossed her arms and pretended to be hurt. "An entire year?"

Cyan forced the grin off his face. "'tis good to see both of you well, and at the head of a fleet as promised," Cyan began. "Impressive to say the least, you should see how worried the Imperials are. It appears that you caught them off-guard, with the majority of their vessels massed elsewhere and otherwise engaged. You have weeks before they can muster up the force necessary to dislodge this fleet from the mouth of the Zarren."

"Well, we have excellent scouts," Edgar said with a knowing wink to Strago. "Though the Imperials aren't any worse off; they found both of you rather quickly," the King pointed out. "I only resorted to demanding your safe return when Garrett told me he had not seen either of you all winter. Did you decide to not hide in Nestil?"

"I decided against the village, for the Imperials knew of our previous presence there. We stayed in the same area though, I just felt no pressing need to alert the blacksmith," Cyan answered. "The less who knew of us, the better."

"Well that made it hard for us to find you," Edgar pointed out. "Had to make demands of the Imperials in Tzen, though they didn't seem to mind... then again, we were practicing their form of diplomacy."

"It seems that the Empire's intelligence gathering has not taken a turn for the worse," Strago mused. "Things seem well in hand for the Empire."

Cyan was silent on that note, as he mused on what General Terrance Cassidy had spoken of. He had met the Brigadier in Tzen shortly before boarding a quarter-boat that took them Edgar's fleet. The General had been vague on many things, cleverly side-stepping political issues, and this only worried the former Knight.

"Has there been any word from Sabin?" Cyan asked, concerned for the safety of his friend.

Edgar shook his head. "We didn't dare sail westward, not with an Imperial fleet massed in that direction. It was way too dangerous to risk."

"What of Garrett?"

"He's heard nothing," Edgar said. "I'm sure my brother is fine. He tends to come out of the craziest situations unscathed," he sank back into his chair, confident in his brother's resourcefulness.

Cyan nodded in understanding, but that knowledge didn't ease his worries. "How was your... excursion?" he asked in the awkward silence. Relm tore her eyes away from the endless expanse of the ocean, her interest piqued.

Edgar and Strago exchanged careful, measured looks with one another. Suppressed smiles were followed by the clearing of their throats.

"Well?" Cyan repeated himself.

Edgar's grin threatened to conquer more than half his face. "Well, it was a struggle," he began.

"A glorious struggle," Strago added with an equally mischievous smirk.

"And there were many hardships," Edgar continued.

"Terrible hardships!" Strago contained his chuckling.

Relm rolled her eyes. "What happened already?"

Edgar and Strago again exchanged a series of looks, communicating without speech. "Well, first there was the sea-battle," Edgar said.

"They came upon us without any warning! And we, surrounded by enemies, were forced to escape in the face of hundreds," Strago's eyes looked upwards and his fingers tapped the table, as if he was counting every cannon at that moment. "Nay! There thousands of guns firing every moment! Smoke and thunder all around us! It was the storm of battle, the chaos of war; a crusade of epic proportions!"

Cyan frowned, confused by their attitudes. "Doubtless that is some terrible fortune," he remarked. "Escape?" he echoed.

"And then there were the sharks," Edgar quickly pointed out without paying heed to Cyan's question. "Damned fast, those things."

"Barbaric creatures," Strago nodded.

"Later, there was the imprisonment."

"Terribly chafing, those chains. And the whips! Don't even get me started on those!"

"In addition to the army," Edgar's grin was still unfazed as Strago's face twisted in horror. "Oh, and that business with the aristocrats. You'd think years of noble upbringing would eradicate such coarse manners!"

Cyan crossed his arms. "Really..."

"Don't forget the monster hoard!" Strago wiped his brow of fake-sweat. "What trouble there! Horrifyingly dangerous!"

Edgar started laughing. "And then the look on Daggart's face!"

Strago's hand was against his heart. "I shall never sleep soundly at night again," he whispered in mock-terror.

"What a load of crock," Relm grumbled.

Cyan shook his head in frustration. "Honestly now, you two remind me of conniving-"

It was at that moment that the door to the cabin opened and in strode Douglas. The Admiral was accompanied by another Figarian. Edgar's naval officers struck a noble pose with their fine blue coats, golden trim and silver buttons accompanied by crisp triangular hats bearing the crest of their Kingdom. However, it was the two men behind the new arrival that caught Cyan's attention.

The Knight of Doma stood in their presence. "Banon! Arvis!" he exclaimed. "'tis an unexpected yet delightful pleasure, sirs!"

The two Returners returned the smile. "It's been a long while, Sir Cyan," Banon said as they shook hands. "I'm sorry for making you wait, the Imperials didn't tell us you were coming until after the fact. We set off from the Borealis as soon as we could."

"The Borealis?" Cyan echoed.

Douglas cleared his throat. "This fleet is a joint taskforce between Narshe and our Kingdom," he answered.

"Please, if you would all sit down," Edgar gestured at the seats from the head of the table. He readjusted his collar, his attitude serious and his posture formal. "And Admiral, if you could have someone escort Relm?"

Relm frowned. "I want to stay," she stood her ground.

Strago glowered at his granddaughter. "Listen to Edgar, Relm. This meeting doesn't concern you."

Cyan interrupted Relm before she retorted once more. "Dear one, please. Time is of the essence," he pointed out.

Relm glared at both Cyan and Strago. "Bah!" she grumbled as she stormed past the two marines Douglas had just brought in.

"Children," Strago growled under his breath. "Always a pain."

"Wouldn't know," Douglas replied as he took his seat. "Never had any of my own, too much trouble with one that wasn't even mine," he continued with a mischievous grin unbefitting a man of his station.

"Admiral, was that backtalk?" Edgar raised an eyebrow, trying to remain perfectly serious.

"Of course not, my King. You were a fine student as you grew up, taking to naval combat much like a cat to water."

There were more polite chuckles at Edgar's expense as everyone took their seats. Admiral Douglas Pellyn was not at the head of the table, for this was not a matter of the fleet in particular but rather a gathering of powerful men. Instead it was the King of Figaro, Edgar, who sat in the Admiral's chair. Flanking were the two officers of importance, Douglas and the un-introduced man. Those three represented all of Figaro.

Sir Cyan Garamonde, retainer to the King of Doma and perhaps the only surviving official of that broken Kingdom, seemed apprehensive. Once again, he was the principle repository of Imperial knowledge in a gathering of those in opposition. Beside him was Strago Magus, Advisor to the King of Figaro and representative of Thamasa. The descendants of the Mage Warriors had done little to affect politics since the War of the Magi, but it was nigh-time for such power to be put to proper use.

Banon, leader of the Returners and political scholar extraordinaire, sat beside the Figarian Admiral. His long grey hair, heavy beard and rather humble attire hid the fact that he was the principle instigator of many historic events. In addition, the rebel forces that had long opposed the Empire commanded an extensive web of spies. The quality of their information network was no surprise for within were hardened, experienced men like Locke Cole.

Last, but not least was Arvis. A stone-faced man with short brown hair, he had been Edgar's principle contact amongst the reclusive Northerners. Despite being a Returner though, his loyalty was to the city-state of Narshe. He had saved Terra from the slave-crown and the Narshe mobs, but only for the greater good of his homeland. At the moment, Arvis represented the Elder, too old and fragile to go on such a dangerous voyage. In addition to his increased authority, he had brought alongside the Figarians a sizable portion of the city-state's naval capability.

The council of six men looked at each other, faces growing grim as they turned their minds to the darkening future.

"There is much to talk about and little time," Edgar began. "I'll skip the ceremony, all of us here have worked together in the past and we should be comfortable with one another. Cyan, you have not yet met Rear-Admiral Raimondi here. He is a highly decorated naval officer who is second to only Sir Douglas." He waited until the two men had exchanged quiet greetings. "There is one pressing matter at the moment, and another of such importance that we cannot ignore it for long. Admiral Pellyn, if you would begin."

Douglas nodded, setting aside his hat and taking a deep breath. "As you all know, this taskforce represents a significant fraction of both Figaro's and Narshe's naval power. Our current position has blockaded the Zarren, a river that leads directly to the capital of Tzen. It is a waterway of such expanse that even our battleships could sail in unhindered."

"A daring display," Cyan interrupted. "I must inquire as to how this fleet has maintained her good fortune for so long. There is no evidence of general action and Lady Luck a whimsical creature."

The newly-arrived Figarian nodded in agreement. "An excellent question and I would take the opportunity to answer your concern. In addition to my duties as an Admiral, I am the principle coordinator of all naval engineering. For this mission, the King has assigned me command of the UCS and now there are several teams in charge of digesting the slew of reports. They work around the clock to give us an accurate picture of the Imperial coastline and the dispositions of their fleets."

"UCS?" Cyan echoed.

"Underwater Combatant Service, sir," Raimondi answered without missing a beat. "My men scout the waters and ensure that the Imperials are not planning anything sneaky, even if they claim otherwise. For now it appears the majority of their fleets have been split apart. They have found refuge outside Pendleton Sound and Lechmere's Bay. Though several ships of the line are docked within the shipyards of Ethelben and Tzen, they are too few to challenge our line of battle, even if they were to miraculously combine into a single force."

Cyan frowned. "Underwater?"

"Yes, boats that travel invisible to the eye underneath the surface of the ocean," Edgar quickly interjected. He held up a hand and cut off the elder Knight's immediate question. "It is true and quite possible without magical assistance, and it is not an abomination of machinery," he soothed over Cyan's worries. "Admiral, please continue."

"The situation is that our fleet requires constant re-supply. With freighters from both Narshe and Figaro working together to sail around the storms, we are quite comfortable; our blockade could hold indefinitely. However, this kind of warfare is dangerous; losing a single supply ship would not hand us defeat, but combined with protracted action and we may find ourselves unable to return home," Douglas continued. "The situation is strategically untenable."

"Edgar, has there been any update on the Imperial end?" Banon asked.

"The Imperials have extended an invitation to allow several ships to dock, as well as keep our men supplied without having the need to sail halfway around the globe," Edgar answered. "I have stonewalled them for quite sometime, demanding the safe return of Cyan, Relm, Terra and Locke before continuing negotiations."

"And where is the intrepid Esper?" Arvis spoke up. "While she was once of the Empire, I still fear for her safety."

Banon nodded. "And despite with Kefka's attack in Thamasa, the Espers are still the most important ace up our sleeve. We'll need their aid in the struggle to come."

"I would not put too much hope in such a course of action," Strago folded his arms and waited until all attention was on him. "The Statues raised the Floating Continent and with it, the Gate to the Esper World. I loathe admitting this, but with the collapse of the Floating Continent and the uncertainty of the Statues' formation, we may very well be on our own... perhaps forever."

Both Returners grew silent while the Figarian officers nodded blankly; they had been briefed on Esperkind, but neither truly grasped the ramifications of what Strago was implying.

"The destruction of the Floating Continent could have long-standing consequences," Cyan pointed out. "Strago, I fear I do not understand fully what you're suggesting. Are we cut off from magic?"

Strago shook his head. "I don't believe so. Magic still exists, and the laws of physics have yet to rebel so I believe that the formation of the Statues is stable... however, the chaos generated by the Floating Continent's destruction could plague the world until the end of time. Certainly the storms that criss-cross between these two continents show no signs of abating."

"The beams of light never reached Figaro," Edgar interjected. "Most of the destruction that we saw within the Empire never crossed the ocean. Maybe it was a blessing in disguise?"

"While that might be true," Douglas interjected, "every single man on watch reported the sunrise coming from the south. My fleet was near the mouth of the Lete River at the time, almost as far north as Narshe. That we could see it... thinking about that day still sends shivers down my spine."

"The King and I have spoken about this many times," Strago pointed out. "Our conclusion has not changed. There is no reason to believe that we are in danger from the Floating Continent. However, we must plan assuming that the Espers cannot assist us with the Empire," the lore-master concluded soundly.

Edgar sighed. "Then back to the Empire. The General that I have contacted -- Terrance Cassidy -- has left me the impression that Terra and Locke are ill-disposed. That they found you, Cyan, so quickly and yet cannot produce our two friends worries me greatly," Edgar explained. "I fear they're covering up our friends' deaths and that Tzen will be little more than a trap."

"Cyan, you've met this General, haven't you?" Banon asked. When the Knight of Doma nodded, the leader of the Returners continued. "The original plan was to demand our friends back, thus delaying any need for decisive action. We didn't know the character of these Imperials and had the upper-hand. Now that time is no longer on our side, what do you think of this Terrance Cassidy?"

"I met him shortly before arriving aboard the Allegiance. His command is currently based out of Tzen, though the city itself is less militarized and perhaps he was only there to ensure my cooperation," Cyan answered. "I trust you are well aware of the Empress?" the Knight of Doma asked in bitter tone.

Grim nods around the table.

"That would be the secondary matter, and of the gravest importance," Douglas finished.

"Empress Danielle," Edgar said plainly. "However, there is certainly no reason to believe that she has actually unified the Empire; all contact has been restricted to the regions we already knew were under her command. Cyan, you would know more about this, so I give the floor to you. What of Terrance Cassidy and the alleged Empress?"

"What sort of man is he? Trustworthy?" Arvis interjected. Certainly out of protocol, but everyone was willing to let it slide considering the gravity of the situation.

Cyan folded his arms and thought. "He was well-meaning, an educated man that has seen more battle than is healthy at such a young age. But he spoke with grace and seemed different from the Imperial Generals I have met in the past. His concerns were far-sighted, almost humanitarian in nature."

Edgar and Banon exchanged serious looks. Cyan was about to inquire about their curiosity of the General, but Douglas interrupted. "What of his fleet?"

"While his ships did not seem prepared for the offensive, the Imperials are inclined towards duplicity. That Danielle Meras has taken the throne of the Empire proves that, does it not, King Edgar?"

He referred to Edgar and Danielle's discussion many months ago. Strago and Cyan both glared at Edgar meaningfully and the King nodded... almost reluctantly.

"From what I was told of the Imperial Civil War," Douglas started. "The situation before the winter was a difficult deadlock. With multiple factions contesting control of Vector, it seemed like there was no solution on the horizon. Could this Empress business be a hoax?"

Cyan sighed. "My understanding is that Danielle's forces had breached the Gap of Reddenhurst in the deep of winter. I was there," he explained to wide-eyed stares. "Her forces numbered well over fifty-thousand even after battle with a vicious foe that had been heavily entrenched and evenly matched."

The Figarians seemed most shocked by this development. "Why is this so surprising?" Arvis asked.

"The Gap of Reddenhurst is the ideal defensive line," Douglas answered. "Historically, offensives across the Gap required ten-to-one odds."

"An even victory would certainly imply strategic brilliance and an unimaginable understanding of tactics," Raimondi continued. "Given the evidence and our assumption of the numerical parity between these Imperial factions, the odds of taking Vector seem in her favour."

"However," Cyan continued. "With all of the Imperial Core ablaze in warfare, I did not believe it was possible for the Civil War to end so quickly. Even the leaders I spoke with such as Farin Starson, they were under the impression that the war could last for years."

"War is unpredictable," Banon stated. "History is rife with examples of abrupt changes, like a flash flood that sweeps all aside and changes the course of civilization. Perhaps something similiar happened here, so the more pertinent question is whether you believe Danielle would be supported by the people of the Empire."

Cyan thought of Paisley. "The men that serve her are fanatically devoted," he answered. "I do not doubt they would hail her as an Empress."

Edgar slammed his fist on the table, cursing in a manner far beneath his station. He shot to his feet and spun away in frustration. The window of the cabin looked out to sea, where the concentration of Figarian battleships stretched all the way to the horizon. An uncountable number of white sails fluttered in the ocean breeze, lustrous under the spring sun.

"Thank you Cyan, your opinions match those which my sources have managed to gather," Banon said with a concerned sideways look at the King of Figaro. "However, the Empire is quite a bit weaker than the rosy picture they have painted for us."

"This is new to me," Douglas' eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Why was this not brought up earlier? Any information would be highly beneficial for my staff; the more we know about the Empire and especially its weaknesses, the better our plans are to counter its advance."

"I had just received my dispatches no less than an hour ago. They are not as complete as I would like, due to a hasty compilation."

"So they are unreliable?" Raimondi asked.

"The opposite, actually. The reason why my sources are incomplete is simply due to a preponderance of reliable information. Sorting through it and finding relevant material is quite the task."

"Well then, do enlighten us," Douglas spread his arms. "We would all love to know about the Empire's weaknesses."

Banon nodded. "It appears that the Empire is still at war right now. The Civil War did not entirely end, or at least, was not wrapped up in a very satisfactory manner. Apparently an entire faction was made irrelevant and still exists, probably quite disgruntled and most certainly dangerous. They have fortified their positions and are holding the Empire at bay for the moment, though no action has been seen for quite a while."

"A possible ally?" Arvis asked.

"Not exactly. It appears that this faction claims loyalty to the Maverick," there were foul curses around the table at that name, "and to worsen their cause, they have executed crimes so heinous that I would not suggest associating ourselves with them. Their evil taint may rub off."

"What sort of crimes have they committed?" Strago asked.

"Their worst is the Rape of Vector, it appears," Banon answered to the astonishment of all. He shrugged. "I'm as surprised as you all are," he said with a shake of the head.

"Former Imperials sacking their own capital?" Douglas rubbed his temples in disbelief. "I find this impossibly hard to believe. Their army has always been disciplined, aside from one or two errant Generals," a look of apology was directed at Cyan.

"There are barbarians amongst them," Cyan interjected. "It only takes a single soul to spread such a disease."

That was a depressing thought.

"In addition to the simmering war with the subjugated remains of Maranda, there is some additional civil unrest in the east," Banon continued. "Not all is well with the Empire, even if it has reunited under a new leader."

"The military scenario does not seem so bleak, though both situations sound short-lived," Raimondi reasoned. "We have built up our navies because that is where the Empire is weak; her armies are simply too vast for us to stand against. These two brushfires do not have the benefit of an ocean between them and the mailed fist of the Empire. We cannot expect much from either; they may become irrelevant within the month."

"Agreed," Arvis folded his arms. "As far as Narshe is concerned, there are but two choices. Neutrality is impossible, we've seen the Empire's view of that notion." He referred to the Imperial attacks on Kohlingen and more recently, two military assaults on Narshe. "We fight, or we become friends with the Empire. That it has reunited under a common leadership might be in our favour, for otherwise we might have been dragged into the war with a disadvantaged faction."

"Friendship might not be an option," Douglas cleared his throat, reminding all that Figaro had been an ally with the Empire for a decade. "However," he began with apprehensive looks at his king. "Because of the rise of a militant tyrant in Vector, the possibility of protracted war might be equally inadvisable."

"Narshe and her peoples do not wish to enter a fight with the Empire," Arvis pointed out. "In the past, we were still reeling from the Empire's attacks. Now that blood-thirst is gone. While we have been certainly amicable towards combining our industrial might and vast natural resources with those of your Kingdom -- the free-trade agreement only benefits everyone and a closer alliance equally so -- there is simply no will to fight such a far away war!"

"Indeed, and even if the entire Northern Continent banded together, we are still decades from matching the Empire," Douglas added. "This should come as no surprise, but city-states such as Kohlingen, Zozo and even Jidoor are nigh-useless. The rich of Jidoor might even welcome the Empire, they've historically cared for little more than their own pockets. Zozo is nothing more than the abode of criminal scum -- the storms have allowed them to thrive -- and Kohlingen is distant and her industry laughable. Hell, most of their people are pathetic pacifists, certainly not the type of men we need."

"Their sciences are quite developed though," Raimondi was quick to point out. "I would not discount Kohlingen's benefit to our war effort, even if they are a loose confederation of pacifists. Their education system is well-developed, the bases we have in Northern Figaro were positioned for both secrecy and to benefit from the cultural exchange of ideas."

"I don't want to jump to conclusions," Douglas growled. "But as nothing more than an administrator for our Research and Development division, you should know that new weapons of war would take too long to develop. That Kohlingen has sciences doesn't change the fact that they can't contribute."

"I disagree," Raimondi gestured around them. "Major developments have been lost because of our lack of a close alliance with the academia of Kohlingen. Airship theory that should have become Figarian was bought and further developed by the Empire; to their great benefit."

"Technology is merely an enabler for men," Douglas glared at his fellow officer. "War is fought by men; won by men! It is through our blood, sweat and tears that victory is achieved. That is what we need, not fancy machines but more warriors, more sailors, more cavalry and many more battleships!"

"That this fleet is here is purely due to our research and the success of the UCS," Raimondi scoffed. "Had we have sailed to Ethelben as you initially suggested, we would have been caught between the hammer and the anvil, with a massive fleet in Pendleton Sound against our backs! Technology has turned the tide of war and will continue to do so, no matter what you and your simpleton soldiers think!"

"Gentlemen, please!" Banon interrupted. "It is clearly obvious to all assembled that the Empire is a war-machine unmatched. Now let us focus on the solution, rather than the problem."

"The Espers-" Arvis began.

"-are out of the question," Strago cut in with a frown.

"What about Thamasa? Would the Mage-Warriors be willing to lend their support in these dark times?" Banon asked.

Strago sighed and sank into his chair. "We are a small village, isolated from the world for so long that we have forgotten what it means to fight for freedom. When the Empire revealed its true nature, we were too afraid to raise our arms and fight back."

"Then you understand the risks now," Banon theorized.

Strago shook his head and frowned sadly. "I'm sorry, but our wounds have only deepened the hatred of fighting. My people would not be willing to help; we are too few and have lost too much."

"Cowardice," Douglas mumbled.

"Have a care, Admiral," Cyan interrupted diplomatically. His grim presence was a reminder of an even greater mistake that everyone in the room shared.

But Strago nodded anyway. "I will not defend my people. Fear is a tool in a tyrant's disposal that is deadlier than any blade, and we have surrendered thusly."

"We must make them understand our cause then," Banon pointed out. "We made the Espers understand our cause; we will reach out to your people similarly."

"No! They're too few in number to seriously make a difference and I would not spare a man to convince them otherwise," Raimondi answered. "Without industry worth mentioning and being nothing more than a gaggle of pacifist mages, Thamasa won't swing this war to our side. Maybe if we had a century, then we could incorporate your knowledge into our technology... but we cannot hope to match the Empire's magi-technology at the moment."

Silence, for it was a wholly depressing meeting that had gone nowhere but only highlighted their weaknesses. They said nothing and brooded.

Edgar finally turned around.

"We're sailing into Tzen. I will speak with General Cassidy personally," Edgar's voice was calm and soft, but it cut through everyone with grave authority. "All of you have made it rather clear that if we pursue a course of hostility, we will likely lose. Even if I were willing to concede to worldwide warfare -- to force many of my people to die in a fight far from their homeland -- I will not allow us to follow a course of action leading to certain defeat."

"My meeting with Danielle had been to ensure a treaty between her faction and our Kingdom. That her faction might control all of the Empire is only beneficial for all of us," Edgar continued. "We have no choice but to follow through on that course of action. As for the fleet, it will serve as an escort, staying within range to cover an expendable sloop. I will not endanger anymore people than is absolutely necessary."

Everyone turned to Edgar in surprise. "My King, that's beyond ludicrous," Douglas began. "We have Tzen under our guns, it is fully within our power to demand General Cassidy's presence aboard the Allegiance!"

"I would rather-"

"My King," Raimondi interrupted. "With all due respect, if your sloop is lost, this fleet would retaliate against the city regardless of your wishes. It wouldn't be our decision at that point."

The ranking Admiral nodded. "I can't even guarantee we would keep to military targets. Most of the commanders, while loyal, did admire Daggart's speeches. They remember South Figaro and dammit sire, it still hurts to this day! If you fall, the consequences would be much worse than if we lost a battleship or two escaping with your eminence."

"It would be akin to antagonizing a sleeping boar," Raimondi continued. The two Figarian officers were of like mind on this topic. "There's no telling what would happen once blinded by rage. It could easily ignite the war you fear."

"They are correct, Edgar," Banon pointed out. "You are indispensable and this fleet serves to protect you, not the other way around."

"You people are absolutely-"

"Edgar," Cyan interrupted steely. "This is not a matter to be discussed. If you are speaking with the General Cassidy, you will have an escort worthy of your station. That is the only option." All knew that in this regard, the word of a former retainer to the King of Doma was undebatable. Edgar relented hesitantly.

"There is still a slight problem here," Strago pointed out.

Edgar sat down, depressed and apprehensive of the future. "I know, Strago. That we didn't pick up survivors certainly doesn't help the situation. It won't look good at all."

"Those orders came from Daggart personally and again, I'd be hard-pressed to find any in the fleet that would have honestly cared to save the Imperials, even if it is against the code of a sailor," Douglas defended his men's actions. "Their assault on South Figaro was reprehensible!"

"I know Admiral, and I don't blame the navy. However, it might be the breaking point for the Imperials," Edgar answered. "There is no easy way to excuse what we've done."

"Of what event do you refer to?" Cyan interrupted.

The five men turned their attention to the Knight of Doma. None seemed willing to voice the matter, for it seemed like saying it would only worsen the situation.

But as always, it was Edgar that had to shoulder the difficult burdens. "Cyan, the Imperial fleet that sailed with us -- including Danielle's personal bodyguard and her trusted Admiral -- never survived the journey. We were waylaid by a Figarian line of battle and reports stated that every vessel was destroyed; even if they surrendered."

"But how did you two...?" Cyan's speech failed him, so aghast at the sheer ruthlessness of their actions. It had been merciless.

"It was my doing," Strago was blunt, and little details were offered.

"Surely there were survivors," Cyan spluttered. "Not everyone could have..."

Edgar shook his head. "Those that were captured were publicly hung. The rest, including all hands aboard the Admiral's battleship, were claimed by the deep blue sea. Not a single Imperial survived."

---

General Cassidy was quite young for his office. It was this inexperience that Edgar hoped to exploit, for the Brigadier was quite trusting. He had agreed to meeting aboard a small frigate of the Figarian fleet, sailed within range of the many guns gathered within the waters of the Zarren.

"Your Majesty," Terrance bowed slightly, a gloved fist against his heart. "I am Brigadier-General Terrance Cassidy, Commander of the Third Army of Her Imperial Majesty's Armed Forces."

Edgar straightened slightly, a frown on his face. There was something odd about the posture, so familiar...

"King Edgar?" Terrance asked, confused. "Is something amiss?"

Edgar smiled as he noted the gesture. "Nothing, General, and welcome aboard this ship," he said as he remembered his manners. "I was merely remarking on your acquaintance with Figarian traditions," he remarked. "Please, the Captain's Mess has been prepared."

Two Figarian Marines led the way as the General, bereft of an honour guard of his own accord, followed two perfect steps behind the King.

"I take great pride in civility," Terrance answered Edgar's question as they strolled through the vessel. "In uncertain times such as these, it is all that separates man from beast."

Edgar smiled and slipped through the opened doors to a deserted room, slightly smaller than the one aboard the Allegiance that he had spent long hours within. "A noble thought, from a noble man," Edgar slurred the last two words meaningfully as he gestured to the seat facing the head of the table.

The General looked only briefly surprised and quickly recomposed himself. "I apologize. I did not think it was meaningful. I meant no offence; it just seemed silly to lather oneself with pointless praise that only Peers would care for."

Only after Edgar sat down did Terrance follow. The two men watched each other from across a table perhaps two sword-lengths apart, though neither was armed. "May I inquire to your lineage?" Edgar asked.

Terrance nodded. "Of course; I am Terrance, son of George of the House of Cassidy. In recent times, I have become the Marquis of Driscoll and its subsidiary peerages, including the Earldom from which my House was named."

Edgar burst out laughing.

"Excuse me?" Terrance was rather concerned.

Edgar shook his head. "Banon was right," he muttered under his breath before regaining control of himself. "I'm sorry for my breach in protocol, but we are closer friends than you might imagine Terrance, if you don't mind the presumption."

"No, certainly not King Edgar. But I must apologize, I'm not sure I follow your meaning."

"Just Edgar is fine," he quickly extended the same courtesy. "As for what caused my poor manners, your father was Lord George Cassidy, a man whom I was briefly familiar with."

Terrance smiled knowingly. "Ah, yes. My father was once given the privilege of being the Ambassador to your Kingdom."

"That is what I'm referring to, and I suppose he's the one that taught you some of the more esoteric Figarian traditions. He was always interested in the archaic."

Terrance chucked wistfully. "Yes, my father was always one to delve into ancient customs. I take it that such deportment is now out of style?"

"Overly formal, but never without style," Edgar grinned. "How fares the Lord Cassidy?"

Terrance wet his lips. "I'm afraid to disclose that my father fell recently, during the turmoil after the Long Night. The proscriptions claimed his life, though such matters should be discussed another time."

Edgar nodded. "I'm sorry for your loss, Terrance. He was one of the best Ambassadors, with a genuine interest in maintaining common friendship between our two peoples."

"And I am no less interested," Terrance took Edgar's bait and quickly addressed the matters at hand. "I have been empowered by Her Most Imperial Majesty to begin the formation of a treaty discussed between your persons many months ago."

Edgar sighed with relief. "That would be a pleasure, though I am surprised that the Empress is not here to conduct such business herself."

"She sends her gravest apologizes, but there are... matters in the southeast that has taken her away from Vector. Certainly the details will be discussed in person, when she returns to the Imperial Core. Until then, there are various matters that must be discussed, including a somewhat-" Terrance paused as he searched for the right word, "-bold positioning of your fleet."

Edgar laughed. "Terrance, please, we're both learned men and such sophistry is unnecessary. I'm sure it's nigh-hostile in your view as a General of the Imperial Armed Forces. I apologize for our presumptuous manoeuvres, but it was necessary. Last I knew of the Empire, Civil War had all but engulfed the entire continent. I did not know if Tzen was friend or foe."

"I do not fault your escort," Terrance answered. "Your ships are impressive; certainly capable had your fears proven true and Tzen fallen to the barbarian. Equally understandable is your concern for your fellow friends, figures of importance such as the esteemed Sir Cyan Garamonde."

"I still would like to know where Terra and Locke are," Edgar pointed out quickly. "Your response was that they were ill-disposed, and yet you found Cyan quickly enough."

"They are quite busy in Vector, but I guarantee you of their safety. You will see for yourself once you reach the Imperial Core; I have no doubt that they would desire to meet once you arrive in Mansfield."

"Excuse me?"

"I did not intend to presume, but surely we are of like mind. Such historic matters could not be concluded aboard a humble warship. Mansfield is a city of dignity, and is incidentally convenient for the Empress on her return from the city of Vickers."

Edgar sighed; pompous, yet progressive. It was an interesting mix for a nobleman.

"My forces here will extend every courtesy to your fleet. We do not have the berthing for so many ships of the line, but we will supply and allow a number of your vessels access to dry-dock. There is peace in the Empire now; your men will be free to wander this fair city in safety. The Empress has deemed us friends, and I am quite happy to oblige. What remains is merely formality."

"The Empress Danielle is far too kind," Edgar said wearily.

"Her foresight is divinely," Terrance agreed with reverence. "There is another matter of which I must inquire though."

Here it comes, Edgar thought.

"Of the fleet that sailed with you, and the Diodorus and the Tiernay, I note that they are not within your fleet."

Edgar swallowed. There was no point in hiding it any longer. "I'm afraid that in the process of ferrying my person across the ocean, they were lost in battle with all hands. I survived solely by the grace of the gods. I am terribly sorry."

Terrance's chest heaved. "I see," was his answer.

"Figaro would welcome the Empire to inquire more deeply. However, I think it would be best for such dark matters to be removed for another time," Edgar continued.

Terrance nodded slowly. "Yes. I should think that the Empress would be quite interested in that tale."

---

Cyan Garamonde stepped out of the house, deep in thought. He quickly thanked Lowell, the librarian that had been their principle contact in Tzen, and pulled tight his blue cape over a gleaming set of plate armor. Cyan had been concerned for the old man's safety, fearful that the Empire would strike back at those who had harboured Returners.

It seemed at least that in this, Danielle had kept her word.

As Cyan made his way through the recently industrialized capital of Tzen, he couldn't help but worry about the future. The fact was that the Empress had stabilized the fall of the Empire and began reconstruction of all that had been lost. Whether the Empire rose or fell was no concern to him, but it was difficult for him to imagine a benign ruler upon the throne of Vector.

What if the Empire struck back against the world?

The Knight of Doma made his way back to the docks, intent on meeting Strago and Relm. The pair had decided to spend some quality family time together and Cyan was happy for them. It brought a smile to his face when the rest of the world was in such turmoil.

Lowell had kept up with Imperial politics in the recent months, invigorated by their visit. The old librarian had actually expected Cyan to return earlier and had plenty to say. Cyan had no doubt that much of what he had learned, Edgar would have discovered upon his second meeting with Terrance Cassidy. In fact, Cyan glanced at a clock tower, it was nigh-time that those two men would wrap up their discussion.

Their first meeting had gone as well as could be expected, given the apprehensiveness of both sides. The Imperials were well within their rights to be weary of the visitors from the Northern Continent, with such naval power mere minutes outside of the capital of Tzen and bringing news that the Imperials who had risked their lives to escort Edgar overseas had made the greatest of all sacrifices.

Thus, it was rather surprising that the Imperials still wished for Edgar to travel to the Imperial Core in order to officially sign a peace treaty. Edgar had submitted reluctantly and already, a suitable guard was being gathered from the fleet's marines. They were going not Vector, but Mansfield. It was strange and the excuses somewhat debatable, but then Cyan had discovered Danielle's motive for being so far to the southeast of the Empire.

She was personally crushing the insurgency.

Lowell had called it the Triskele Rebellion. The librarian had overheard news of the matter after speaking with ancient associates within the aristocracy. It appeared that an influential group of Knights, supported by the locals, had declared the Empress to be a pretender to the throne. They had rebelled and started a quarrel in the far reaches of the Empire.

The Empress was still a soldier and had gone with an army to oversee the campaign. Cyan could see the benefit there, for certainly a ruler that was quite comfortable with its commanders in the military was desirable. That she was returning and wished to save time by going to Mansfield instead of Vector seemed plausible.

Still.

"Strago!" Cyan exclaimed as they crossed paths just near the docks. Though dressed in Figarian blue, his frizzled white hair and a long beard were unchanged. He was still the same eccentric lore-master that Cyan had met in the chaos of Thamasa.

"Cyan," Strago wiped his brow. He seemed tired. "How is Lowell?"

"Contented," Cyan answered. "There is still some vigour in him."

"Of course! Don't you ever think poorly of us old men, there is always some fight left in us!" Strago said, though his blatant exhaustion was a contradiction of his speech.

"Relm is quite the nuisance, is she not?" Cyan noted kindly, but failed to stop his lip from twisting upwards.

Strago shook his head. "She was always a handful, but I don't know what you fed her over the winter. She's got twice the energy and thrice the intelligence. I'm having trouble keeping up with her, much less reining her in." He glared when Cyan laughed understandingly. "And I've already been through this," Strago moaned. "I swear experience means nothing here; doesn't help that the girl is magically gifted."

Cyan couldn't stop grinning.

"Wipe that smile off your face," Strago growled. His tone grew serious. "Relm told me what happened over the winter. Now I'm beyond thankful for what you did for her, but I can't say I'm pleased with your intentions in the past few months."

Cyan followed Strago as they continued back towards the pier. "You disagree?"

"Disagree? Dammit Cyan, she's ten!"

"Eleven," Cyan corrected.

"Only by your customs, and what does it matter her exact age? You're teaching a child the arts of war! How could you?"

Cyan paused in the middle of the street, forcing the crowd behind to avoid his large stature. He folded his arms and waited for Strago to make his way back through the stream of people.

"You would leave her defenceless? At the mercy of the enemy?" Cyan asked. His voice dripped with disapproval.

"Her magic-"

"-was not up to the task," Cyan interrupted. "Nor is she much younger than those I have trained before, and so far she has excelled beyond all expectations."

"That's not the point, Cyan!" Strago growled. "She's an artist, not a swordswoman. Instead of a blade, it should be a brush. But no! Gone are the paints and her canvas, instead she exercises and spars daily; you know that's not right. No child should have to learn to kill!"

"You have taught her equally deadly spells," Cyan pointed out to Strago's chagrin. "This is no different. One cannot be blind to what this world has become, nor will ignorance of the truth protect Relm from the darkness around us."

Strago's face twisted as conflicting emotions played havoc with the old man. At last, he sighed. "I wish you told me first," he grumbled in defeat. "She's such a headache now."

Cyan laughed again as the two men picked up their pace. "So where is the little devil?" he asked.

It was instinctive, happening so quickly that Cyan would later lie awake wondering how he knew. His foot slid aside as something wavered through the air he was just occupying, and then he quickly turned around and grabbed her by the hair.

"What a burden!" he exclaimed in jest, holding a fistful of blond hair.

Relm stuck out her tongue and twisted aside. "I almost caught you off-guard," she exclaimed proudly. "You were just lucky I moved too quickly that time!"

"What did I say about patience?" Cyan shook his head. "Such audacity," he said as he waggled a finger.

Relm made her cutest, most innocent face. "What some call insolence, others call confidence," she repeated.

"And where did you hear that?" Cyan mocked.

Relm grinned. "Look behind you."

Paisley straightened, clearing his throat. Cyan looked the Imperial Officer up and down, noting the assortment of medals and rank bars, as well as a freshly cleaned dress uniform. "Well, yet another chance meeting," he remarked.

"We met the man over a cup of tea," Strago glared at Cyan out of the corner of his eye. "A rather expensive tea -- I might add -- because Relm refused to have anything else but some specific leaf from the Northern Continent. Apparently, anything else was too bitter. And she refused to add milk and sugar, saying it was without grace."

Cyan shrugged. "I do not enjoy the taste of herbal remedies," he answered with some disdain.

"Of course," Strago replied, not entirely convinced of his granddaughter's idol. "Anyhow, I suppose you are ready, Captain?"

"Captain?" Cyan echoed.

Paisley smiled but kept his attention on Strago. "It would be more proper to ask if you are finished with your conversation," he pointed out.

Strago scowled. "Youth," he grumbled.

Paisley bowed his head respectfully towards Cyan. "My men are prepared, Sir Cyan. We merely await the arrival of the important guests."

---

"That's quite an escort," Strago remarked in awe. They had not gone far, for they were still within sight of the walls of the city. Newly risen watchtowers, in addition to half-built barracks were extending the limits of Tzen. The Imperials had begun expanding the capital as soon as winter ended, sheltering the once-temporary housing behind Imperial might.

Strago stared at the innermost collection of mounted soldiers and chocobo-pulled carriages, in addition to the many carts that would carry suitable supplies for the journey. They were gathered near two large boulders, half-cut and looking like they would form the foundation of an impressive arch.

As for the rest of the escort, Cyan had seen greater numbers before, but still... both Figarian and Imperial soldiers had formed proud, disciplined ranks. There were at least two-hundred Figarians alone, Cyan quickly counted, and at least twice that number donning the brown leather of the Empire. This was not going to be a mounted escort then, but Cyan had already expected that from the number of carriages.

"Sir Cyan, I will be the liaison for the duration of the trip. I have been instructed to ensure your comfort and to extend every courtesy to King Edgar and all your peoples. You are highly-valued guests of the Empire," Paisley declared royally.

"And pray tell, were you instructed of that speech as well?" Cyan asked.

"Yeah," Paisley rolled his eyes. "The General grilled me on it, as if it means anything."

"Well, congratulations are still in order on your promotion, Captain Paisley," Cyan commended. He smiled at the familiar, unbecoming boyish face and short-brown hair. "It appears you have been given a position of importance now. There is no one else in the Imperial Army I would rather trust to escort us to Mansfield."

Paisley smiled. "Thank you sir. That means more than you could imagine, coming from you."

The two men turned to the commotion caused by the arrival of Edgar. Flanked by a combination of Figarian and Imperial guards, the King of Figaro was accompanied by Banon and Arvis, as well as General Cassidy.

"I will speak with the Duke," Terrance was saying to Edgar as the two men strolled side-by-side, like equals. "He would be honoured by your presence, and I think you would enjoy his company quite a bit."

"Of course! Depending on how long we wait in Mansfield, I do not see a reason to refuse a man whose table you have lauded such praise," Edgar replied.

"His palate is excellent, and his chefs the best in all of the Empire. You will not be disappointed," Terrance stopped in front of Strago. "Lore-master Strago, Sir Cyan," he held out his hand and they shook in greeting. "I trust that the escort is up to your standards?"

Cyan nodded. "They are excellent, General."

"Very well, since you already know Captain Paisley here, I must take this opportunity to retire. I have reports to write -- a long stack that I detest -- before my commander returns from the Wilds. Captain, I leave our esteemed guests in your charge."

"Yes sir!" Paisley saluted crisply.

The General left, accompanied by his personal escorts, without exchanging the typical mantra of the Empire. It would not be fitting, given the presence of so many non-Imperials. Cyan noted this as Terrance walked away.

"Well then, I have some matters to take care of before we can leave. Once you have boarded the carriages, please notify the drivers and they'll get a hold of me. Until then, ah... your Kingship... Sir Cyan, I take your leave," Paisley scurried away quickly, clearly embarrassed by a lack of proper deportment.

They waited until he and the rest of the Imperials were out of earshot.

"Into the den of lions, surrounded by twice our number and engulfed by thousands more," Arvis mumbled.

Edgar sighed. "Yes, well we must see this through. There are no other options, and everything has been going our way so far." He turned to one of the Figarian officers. "Major, if you would see Relm back to the Allegiance."

"As you command, my King."

Relm frowned. "Wait, what?" She tore her arm away from the Figarian soldier and snapped a vicious glare at the warrior. "I'm coming with you!"

Edgar glanced at Strago and Cyan and then groaned at their response. "I'm not getting involved in this one," he said with his hands raised.

Banon and Arvis had, in their infinite wisdom, already slipped away.

"Gramps, Uncle!" Relm's hands were bunched into fists. "You're not leaving me behind!"

"Relm, be reasonable," Strago started. "This is not going to a fun trip, it's dangerous and I'll not have you in further trouble. Admiral Pellyn has already said he'd be quite willing to let you stay aboard the Allegiance, where it's safe."

"I don't want to stay on the Allegiance!" Relm cried out. "Cyan!"

"Dear one, this is not something to be debated," Cyan growled as authoritatively as he could. It was a grim, deadly tone that had struck fear in squires -- timid commoner and haughty noble alike -- for decades.

Unfortunately, it was a voice Relm had long since grown used to.

"I don't want to go! I don't want to be sent away. I'm not a burden, I can help!"

"It's too dangerous," Strago growled. "Please, just do as we say. The Admiral said you could have that beef stew everyday if you want."

"You're not buying me off with beef stew, old man!" Relm growled.

"Relm! Have some respect for your grandfather," Cyan snapped. "It is unsafe for you to journey with us, and that is that."

"But I can fight, I can defend myself," Relm answered back.

"Not in this," Cyan continued.

"Then you wasted my time all winter!" Relm retaliated.

"Relm!" Strago rubbed his temples in frustration. "Don't use that tone, Cyan is only thinking of your safety."

"Oh? And I suppose leaving me alone for days at a time was also for my safety?"

"What?" Strago asked, confused.

Relm folded her arms and gestured at Cyan with her eyes. "During the winter, he left me alone in the cottage for days while he rode off deep into the mountains on his chocobo," she stated indignantly.

"Cyan?" Strago looked at the Knight of Doma, who cleared his throat guiltily. "Is this true?"

"It was safer than taking her along, with the possibility of avalanches," Cyan answered.

"But still, such reckless irresponsibility! I trusted you to watch over her, and instead I find out that you are foolish enough to leave a girl barely two-digits in age alone for weeks at a time? For what, some sort of pride-ridden joyride in the-"

"Strago, to fall for such a transparent ploy..." Cyan snapped. He waited until the grandfather had his wits back before directing his attention back to Relm. "I'm disappointed in you, Relm. But that is a discussion for another time. Presently, you shall accompany the Major back to the Allegiance."

Relm turned to Strago, who was just as resolute. She even begged Edgar, but the King of Figaro maintained his distance from this argument and pretended to be deaf and mute.

"Go," Strago gestured at the Figarian Major.

Relm's eyes were focused on the muddy ground as she shuffled away, defeated. With her shoulders slouched and head down, the feeling of dejection was not entirely isolated to just the recipient. Three soldiers escorted her away, normally twice her height but towering evermore over the miserable little girl.

"That was bitter," Edgar muttered as he turned back around. He shook his head. Despite all his experience with the greedy nobility, hostile foreigners and innocent plebes, he had been powerless to calm that storm.

The two men nodded in solemn agreement. "She'll hate me for this," Strago remarked. "I'll never make it up to her."

Out of the corner of his eye, the King watched Cyan take deep, laboured breaths. "I don't suppose it ever gets easier," Edgar remarked.

Wrinkles deepened visibly, prominent on Strago despite his thick white beard. He was slouched, a heavy-heart that would not absolve him of guilty feelings no matter how soundly he had acted.

"Never. Nothing is ever easy."

---

Banon and Arvis were conversing with one another when Edgar, Cyan and Strago finally arrived. The two men had made themselves comfortable in a fine carriage, capable of seating four on top of plush, almost-velvety sheepskin.

"I trust that all affairs are in order at last?" Banon asked.

Edgar gestured. "We'll be as protected as possible, given the circumstances. The Imperials are going to lead the way and also act as a vanguard."

"They're going to quite a bit more trouble than Gestahl did," Arvis remarked. "I wonder what this means. Perhaps they're being truthful for once, or perhaps they're just that much more desperate."

"Whatever the case, we have no choice but to see this through to the end," Banon noted. "I have already sent word to those I trust in Mansfield, so that we'll have an outside source of information aside from what the Empress chooses to present us."

Edgar began to step into the carriage when he noted their numbers. "I'll ride with my ranking officer; ease his worries a little," he excused himself with a thin smile. "My men are justifiably scared. They'll appreciate it if their King rode beside them."

"Thank you for the gesture, Edgar, but I desire solace," Cyan pointed at the carriage. "Please, there is still much for you to discuss, and I am but a prideful warrior."

Before Edgar could say anything, the Knight of Doma strode away.

Strago watched Cyan walk away, silent.

Edgar put a hand on the old lore-master's shoulder. "Perhaps an apology is in order," he remarked. "You did speak without knowing all the details."

"Perhaps," Strago mumbled.

Edgar took his hand away, frowning at how obstinate Strago was. "Maybe later at camp, when we've all had time to relax."

"Speaking of camp," Banon started. "Are things in place with yourself and the Admiral?" Banon could easily guess what had happened between Relm and the two elder men. He had deftly changed the topic.

Edgar nodded. "Regular reports between our party and the Allegiance are expected. They'll be sent daily, written in a key that myself and the Admiral have already agreed upon," he took a seat within the carriage. "If any are missing, well... Douglas is quite prudent. He'll make sure the fleet is safe and word sent back to our homes."

"If Mansfield turns out to be a trap, then hopefully they'll have sufficient warning. Perhaps they can bloody the Empire into submission," Banon remarked. "But as for us, I fear even with all these troops, we might be lost."

Edgar put on his best, fake smile. "Cold feet?"

"I have lived a long, fulfilling life," Banon answered. "My legacy, the Returners, will persevere without me."

Arvis shook his head. "You two are so depressing to listen to. Remember, we have taken greater risks in the past."

Edgar chuckled. "Indeed, and don't doubt the abilities of our resolute friend here," Edgar patted Strago on the back. "He's got plenty of tricks in store, and I can think of one that would be more than helpful," there was a sparkle in the King's eye as he thought of Tzen.

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that," Banon sighed.

"Well, perhaps I should tell you some good news?" Edgar asked. "General Cassidy has contacted the Duke of Mansfield. We'll be expected at his table the first night in his city. Apparently he has the best cooks in the Empire."

"I see that you and General Cassidy have hit it off quite well," Banon noted.

"You could say that. He's been quite forthcoming, much like his father."

"The Earl of Cassidy," Banon mulled over his memories of the former Ambassador. "I only met him briefly, though in retrospect he probably knew of my involvement with the Returners then. Still, he was a fine man, truly interested in maintaining friendship between the two continents. The Empire has been lessened by his untimely demise."

Edgar snorted. "Well, let's hope his replacements are no different."

"I shall pray every night for such a miracle."  



	19. To Provoke a Colossus

_Author Notes: Well, my apologies for the long delay. I thank all you patient readers, and especially my editor Intrasonic and a few other special folks that kept me going -- you know who you are._

_I cannot guarantee any scheduled updates, but I will try. Life has not been kind recently and I have found myself displaced in multiple ways. But, enough drama from me. Or perhaps, more drama from me in the next installment of Visions of Peace.  
_

_Enjoy. ;) _

_PS: A map has been made available at my (sparse) site at http://www.sord.ca/images/VoP-sprite.png_

**The Nineteenth Chapter - To Provoke a Colossus**

"And if you would follow me down Imperial Way, the view is quite phenomenal," she was saying as she rounded the corner. "The rebuilt bridge overlooks the industrial district and also winds back towards the Palace. It's quite popular, even with uphill climb. You're lucky, today it's been cleared of everyone other than selected troops and personnel." 

Despite the season, the ground was free of dirt and mud. The road was paved over with a layer of smooth, black rock that had been melted flat; it resisted the rain far better than mere cobblestone.

The two were strolling along a deserted Imperial Way as it rose higher and higher. As the pair ascended, they could glance past the guardrails and see the tips of newly constructed buildings. Those that were finished were a sight to behold, many stories tall with polished marble forming intertwined arches. They had been built in homage to Albrook but redesigned for rapid construction.

The bridge they were approaching was wrought of great steel beams that formed triangular trusses, strung with steel wire and painted a brilliant Imperial Red. Standing guard at both ends were four soldiers wearing ceremonial uniforms. The men straightened and saluted the esteemed guests as they crossed.

"On the northern side," she gestured with a gloved hand, "you'll notice that while empty, the fields are clear of rubble. The Imperial Forum, the Imperial Senate -- where the House of Lords gathered -- and the Magitek Labs used to be there," she pointed out meaningfully.

A frown. "They'll rebuild it, won't they?"

"Actually no, though I wouldn't take that as a sign that Magitek is being given up on. The factory itself was moved somewhere secret while the scientists were divided between there and the Palace."

"It was in a strange place; the middle of a city so crowded that anyone dedicated enough could sneak in."

She suppressed a scoff. "Well the official reason is for an Imperial Garden. The Empress has given approval to fill that space with the most exotic trees and flowers, something for the public to enjoy as well as maintaining the balance."

He pulled his cloak closer, the white-washed cloth was much too thick for the warm temperatures of spring, but it was chilly on the bridge. A northerly gust howled as the pair turned their attention in the opposite direction.

"There are quite a few parks. Vector doesn't look anything like I remember," he remarked. Hundreds of tall buildings had sprung from what was once rubble, and dozens more were in the process of construction. Their metallic, skeletal frames stretched high into the sky where equally tall cranes were lifting massive steel beams to complete the superstructure.

The Imperial Capital was not just recovering, but bettering itself. It was a hurricane of activity, hundreds of thousands of citizens rebuilding the pride of civilization. Thousands more arrived each day, storming the city in search of jobs and business opportunity. Vector welcomed them with open arms and continued to provide the very finest for its growing population.

"Balance is the buzzword," she answered. "With a chance to start anew, everything was pre-planned to avoid mistakes of the past. Those committees alone wasted weeks," she continued with a roll of the eyes.

He looked up into the clear sky. Only in the far distance -- towards Strachan -- did a small, fluffy white cloud blemish the sapphire expanse. "It's so clear," he remarked. "Did they scrap all the factories?"

"The opposite actually -- there are dozens more -- but recent advances in technology and experience gained from cleaning the hellrains have resulted in much cleaner output. Those that work in the factories have been quite pleased and the word has spread, thousands have arrived to look for jobs."

Near the center of the bridge and overlooking the huge urban sprawl that was Vector, his eyes judged the so-called changes to the Imperial Center. The over-concentration of factories and residences was gone and there was vibrant green to offset cold metal and dirty brick. It was still Vector no doubt -- the layout seemed to be the same -- but everything seemed... healthier.

The pair was quiet. No more questions remained and nothing was left to say about work, he had even discussed the weather. They could only stare at Vector for so long.

Someone had to take the first step.

"I'm-" his voice faltered and instead, he quickly cleared his throat and tried again. "I'm sorry."

Her eyes darted towards him. "About what?" she asked, as if she didn't know.

The guilt had been eating at him for months though. At first, there was always danger and so the opportunity never presented itself. Always the next day, but the days had become weeks and the weeks stretched out into months.

"The past."

"I've already forgiven and forgotten," she answered. But if that was the truth, he didn't know. "The past is just that, right?"

"Sometimes, the past is all that keeps you going," he whispered under his breath. She couldn't hear him of course, and instead he wondered again whether she really meant what she said. On the surface, it certainly looked that way.

After more awkward silence, he decided to leave it at that. "What you've done, what you've made Vector into... it's so different; so beautiful. I didn't think it was possible."

She smiled. "I'm glad you like it."

The pair continued off the bridge, ceremonial guard on the other side saluting them with the same vigour as the first. Imperial Way wound towards the walls of the Palace where flawless, unnatural dark stone towered protectively. The extraordinary material had a glossy sheen, reflecting warm sunlight back onto the road. Palace gardeners had taken advantage of this and planted flowers of all colours along the side of Imperial Way, their aromas mixing together into a delightful, sweet scent that lingered in the cool spring air.

They both took deeper breaths as they strolled beside the walls. He looked out of place, an experienced, militant warrior who contrasted with the peaceful paradise around them. She, however, was beauty personified. A pure white dress made of flowing silk, finely detailed embroidery and intricate lace lappets made for a dazzlingly display. Her train floated in the air behind her, wrought of silver and gold that sparkled in the sunlight. Her pale features were accentuated, long lustrous locks of silver hair fluttering unrestrained in the breeze.

The soldiers guarding the entrance to the Imperial Palace stood taller in their presence, the pair passing beneath an archway of majestic proportions and into the courtyards.

"Strange, I don't see the Imperial Guard," he noted. "Why aren't the black trims guarding the gates?"

She shrugged. "General Donner is still head of the armies that once comprised of the New Order's forces. The Empress was politically-wise; she avoided persecuting the First Citizen's inner circle and actually allowed them to retain their positions. I wouldn't worry too much about the Palace's defence, those here have always been here." Her arms were clasped behind her back, posture straight and proud. "After a while, you don't even notice the difference; Imperial Guardsmen or otherwise."

A mischievous, knowing smirk. "I understand quite well," he replied.

There they climbed hundreds of stairs in silence, for words would betray disbelief at how quickly the Palace had been rebuilt. Every bit as imposing as the walls themselves, metal and stone had been fused together into a domineering symbol. Gone was any hint that the Palace had been attacked. The dead had long since cleared, the rubble removed and Magitek Armor corpses replaced by the latest, most advanced symbols of Imperial Might. The flags of the Empire flapped in the wind, red and black threads bearing the Imperial Emblem.

The Empire was sending a message -- a warning -- to its enemies: its spirit was vigorous, its resolve steadfast, and its strength was undiminished.

Those that ignored it did so at their own peril.

---

"The Imperial Palace itself has been restored as much as possible. Many treasures -- irreplaceable works of art, culture, and various unique creations -- were destroyed in the fires though."

It was left unsaid that with such losses, civilization itself was diminished.

They stopped in an empty chamber of such gargantuan proportions that it could have housed a thousand people and still be considered empty. Metallic walkways that hung from the ceiling or protruded from the bare walls were all that decorated the room.

"As you can see, the Imperial Library was hit the hardest by the fires. Hundreds of years of history have been lost; books that dated back to the foundation of the Empire, the Dark Ages before that, and even some from the War of the Magi," she stopped in her tracks, her footsteps upon metal echoing in the great chamber. "We believe the barbarians took great pains to destroy this place, the desecrationhere was more thorough than anything other than the Magitek Labs."

He was silent, for the imagination could not envision the number of tomes that had been burnt to ash. The idea that so many generations of knowledge was gone forever without recourse; it was a humbling thought.

"Let's head this way; it's less depressing down the eastern wing."

The sound of children's laughter echoed along the corridors, their mischief and hearty spirit spreading good cheer to any who heard it.

Eyes wandered and noted the general quality of the hallway. Their boots made impressions in the soft, plush rugs that ran down the length of the hall. The walls seemed a brighter shade. The air was a little fresher. His attention to detail noted that even the lights were individually-painted, each a work of art in its own right.

"It seems deserted," he noted as he passed empty room after empty room, their doors open to all.

""This wing used to house the officers' quarters; Emperor Gestahl preferred his commanders close by. However, Empress Danielle, though she has not taken away such a privilege, regularly stays on the field with her troops. The commanders have followed suit, but to be perfectly honest, it's not as if many could take a vacation. Halstead, Tzen, Ethelben, Mansfield, Sellenger, Vickers... the army is spread thinly."

The children sounded closer.

They paused in front of two expansive rooms. "You're lucky, the Palace is closed today -- aside from the never-ending line of supplicants," she added under her breath. "Anyways, this wing is open to the public and is normally a crowded mess."

"All of it?"

"Up until these two rooms, which are the highlights of the tour." She gestured and he entered the first room. It was a luxurious suite, bare but clearly once filled with many awards and merits of a high ranking officer. Outlines of medals were burned into the walls, empty bookshelves carefully replaced in their original locations. A lonely wooden desk and plush chair sat in the first chamber and the connected room was no different. An empty closet, deserted bed, and a few trophies of battle were all that made up the bedroom.

It was bounds more interesting than emptiness, but even then there wasn't all that much to see. Now if the prize swords could have told their tales... His eyes wandered across the bare bedroom, halting at an out-of-place object sitting atop a bookshelf. The white, fluffy-stuffed moogle seemed to be staring at him in approval.

"Like the rest of the palace," she continued, "the barbarians stole all that interested them and burned the rest. But time wasn't on their side. They missed a lot, especially in this wing. A couple of her old books were found here, and one of the maids that personally cleaned this suite helped restore the room to its original arrangement."

"Her?" he echoed.

"This room belonged to Celes," she answered as if it was self-evident. "The one opposite was Leo's. By the Empress' decree, both are now enshrined and dedicated to their legends."

His eyes returned to the nigh-empty room; everything seemed cast in a different light.

"Leo's room is even less interesting, so let's continue down the wing," she said as she continued forth.

He left Celes' room slowly, casting one last look at the stuffed animal. Hurrying to catch up, he passed a gaggle of children playing in another large suite.

"Kefka's room," she answered the unspoken question with a raised eyebrow. "I believe it's the Empress' idea of poetic justice."

They shared a quiet chuckle as they continued, finally stopping in front of two, large wooden doors. The great archway could fit many a Magitek Armor within its domain.

"The Emperor's quarters are still cordoned off," she noted as she stared at the magically blockaded entrance. "No one has dared enter and the Empress has decreed that none shall try."

"Strange. Why?"

"Well, the Empress rarely remains in the Palace. As I said, she tends to stay with the army like the soldier-Emperor she is, and so it would be a waste of funds. Now the Throne Room was repaired, but that's because supplicants must be met in a place that's worthy. Her quarters on the other hand, aren't a priority until she deems it. We decided not to argue with the Empress on such minor matters."

"That sounds stupid, wouldn't the usual mass of advisors and nobles have to follow her around the Empire then? Ruling from the road seems like it'd be the waste of funds she fears."

"The Empress rarely intervenes on civilian matters, leaving administration largely in our hands. Her rule has been hands-off for the most part, she is a military General -- born and raised -- and fully understands her own limitations."

A shocked look. "Are you telling me that she gave up her power?"

"Not entirely. All things are still done in her name, but the only active role she plays is in the Armed Forces and we're all grateful for it. The military is quite unstable; grudges from the slaughter and bloodshed of the Civil War don't fade away because the Empress decrees it."

"Who runs the Empire in her name then? A council of sorts?"

"Anson Tilton is the undisputed leader in many respects; he is still the First Citizen," she answered. "While the Empress holds the reins to the Armed Forces, the First Citizen has singly kept the Empire from collapsing. The Civil War was akin to chopping off one's own legs; devastating every corner of the Empire."

A silent nod.

"Not a single family is without someone to bury," she continued darkly. "The First Citizen has done everything in his power to guide the transition from such a dark era. He is highly regarded by all, even his former enemies."

The pair continued through the palace, receiving salutes from every guard they passed until the Marble Square. It was the center of the Imperial Palace, not physically but rather where everyone congregated. The front doors and lobby could be seen if one's eyes were good enough, and both eastern and western wings met here, stairs leading up and down the long corridors bending out of sight.

During the course of reconstruction, the Imperial Palace had been looked upon with the most derision. Gone was any impression that the dark, metallic structure offered superior protection. No longer could one state that beauty had been traded for safety.

A great skylight had been carved into the roof, sunlight streaming down into the Marble Square. A dual-ringed fountain of majestic proportions sparkled under the sun and a rainbow of flowers ringed the edges. There were even three fully-grown oaks that stretched toward the ceiling. In the center was a great statue, a regal-looking man whose sword was raised above his head: one of the founding fathers of the Empire.

Plush red carpet led to the Throne Room, twin doors of imposing iron with the emblem of the Empire branded into the plating. They were gigantic, so heavy that four men were necessary to reveal the spacious chamber beyond. Here, even the walls were wrought with intricate patterns woven against each other, gold and red against dark metal. Spaced pillars around the periphery held up an arched roof from which banners hung in the sunlight.

The Throne was raised, twelve steps above and protected by guardrails. A single seat was set atop lush red carpet.

"I thought you said there were supplicants?" he asked. He looked around the empty Throne Room, eyes glassing over.

She frowned. "I expected Anson to be here with the usual crowd, but I guess with the closure of Imperial Way and the Palace, people decided not to come today."

He advanced toward the throne. His hands were up, palms outward. "The hairs on the back of my neck are standing up. This feels oddly like the Emperor's residence."

"Yes, that would be one of the new defences," she motioned back towards the Marble Square. "Shall we have a look from the ramparts?"

"Sure. There's nothing here anyways."

They marched out of the palace and continued along the outside walkways until they found solitude. Staring off at the rebuilt city of Vector, he sighed wistfully. "Thank you for the tour, Terra. I can see that you've been incredibly busy in the last months."

Terra Branford smiled. "Anytime for a friend. I couldn't have some mere lackey show you around."

"The thought is appreciated."

Terra curtseyed. "Now let me take the chance to formally welcome you back to Vector, Colonel Ferdinand, and to thank you for your continuing service. The Plains of Callaghan are in good hands. Your ever-vigil watch has kept the barbarian silent."

Norris Ferdinand glanced away from the majestic, urban sprawl that was the Imperial Capital. He let loose a long sigh.

"Thank you, Sophis. I'm just glad to be back."

---

Anson shot to his feet the moment Terra entered. "How was it?" he asked from behind a desk of papers.

Terra stretched her arms, glad to be out of the dress and back into more humble clothes. "Well, I need to send a letter to Lindsay and thank her for her work. Uncomfortable though, these dresses, but they feel so majestic. They're perfect for these occassions."

Anson chuckled softly as Terra took a seat facing him. She picked up his cup of tea, long since forgotten. "Cold and stale," she remarked as she took a sip anyways.

"Actually, I was interested in our resolute Colonel. He hasn't been back to Vector for several months now, not since the deep of winter shortly after it was sacked. And I'll admit that we didn't exactly part on friendly terms. How is he?"

Terra smiled as she finished Anson's tea. "He was happy and that's all that really matters. You should've seen the look on his face when he saw what we've done with to Vector. Hundreds of thousands back in the city, many more moving here because of all the work, and the improvements in general. Clear skies, fresh air... I'm really fortunate that there was time to take him around personally."

"Yes. We have spent months without a day of rest and yet the moment he returns, you find several hours free. That was most fortunate," Anson agreed with a roll of the eyes. "Anyhow, the Colonel has never lived in Vector. Being in the Special Forces as long as he has, he probably knows more about the Northern Continent than his own capital. Still, little experience is needed to appreciate the scope of our latest reforms."

"He was definitely asking questions that I thought were common knowledge, I didn't realize that he was out and about so often though."

"The Colonel's service records would require a scholar to parse though, he's done so much and gone so far," Anson acknowledged. "He's a credit to the Empire, I've been pushing the House to reward him for all he's done. The nobles are pushing back, of course, but what else is new?"

"He still blames himself, I think," her lip twisted downward. "He was more lively before Fanshaw. After that, I always felt he was spiralling away. You know, he once shared with me that he thought the Sack of Vector could have been prevented had he betrayed Lilienthal and warned you."

"Me?" Anson sighed. "Wishful thinking, we wouldn't have listened to Colonel Ferdinand. Even if we did, by the time you reached Fanshaw, the Maverick's reinforcements had already swung around and engaged Vector. With both the besieging forces from the west and the fresh, victorious ones from the south, Caleigh would have collapsed before anyone could come to his succour."

Terra nodded sadly. "Norris probably knows that, but that doesn't make it any easier to swallow."

"The truth is just that. It's blind to one's emotions."

"I hope knowing what we've done here," Terra pointed out the window -- the wide, floor to ceiling glass panels overlooked the revitalized and bustling city -- and then tapped her finger on the many folders of the Empire's status. "I hope it makes his burden a bit easier."

Anson nodded. "On that topic, you should probably know that the magical growth spells you developed aren't working as well as we thought. I've assigned a team to look into it, but expect another week before they finish studying the problem and devise a synthetic solution."

"I suppose that means no fully-grown trees for a while?"

"Not unless you want to go out there, gather the few Magitek Knights enjoying their vacation away from the war, and grow those plants yourself."

There was a sparkle in Terra's eye.

Anson sighed. "Let us wait for a permanent, non-magical solution developed from yours, shall we?"

"Fine, Anson," Terra relented in a teasing tone. "Seriously though, it would really make people happy once those trees are back. Wild grass and flowers are nice, but so many have been complaining about the lack of shade. There's something that fills you with pride when standing beneath the majestic canopy of those towering redwoods."

"The world is not such a nice place that you can dedicate yourself to planting trees, Sophis," Anson mumbled. "There are things out there, monsters, barbarians, and dark shadows that still move against us."

"A little vision of beauty, and it'll spread throughout the world," Terra answered confidently. "We'll lead by example, making Vector the paradise of civilization."

"A beautiful world," Anson quoted her. "It is a lovely dream. I know you'll make it happen, no matter how improbable it seems," he said reverently.

"Only with your help. Without you, there wouldn't even be an Empire to start from. The downward spiral could never have been stopped, much less reversed without you and your scores of capable administrators."

Anson bowed his head. "We have done little more than hold together the alliance you created."

"You don't always have to be so humble, First Citizen. I recall some advice to take pride in one's work. Perhaps you should heed those words and not make light of your own position."

"Wise words, Sophis."

"They're yours," Terra mumbled as she picked up the closest folder in their pile of papers and briefly leafed through it. "So what are the supplicants wanting today?"

"Strangely enough, that never-ending fountain has dried up. I'm not really sure what to make of it."

"Maybe it's the new guards?" Terra leafed through the reports, bored as she breezed over economic analysis of the Imperial Provinces. The latest reform that Anson had passed was revitalizing the industry. The numbers merely reinforced what could be seen if one simply opened their blinds and looked outside.

"Excuse me?"

"When Norris and I entered the Palace, he noticed that the Imperial Guard wasn't in charge."

"Strange, I'll speak with General Donner tonight," Anson planned. "He's probably decided on some weird rotation and the new ones are scaring the citizens away. He was never very good politically; I worked with him and Caleigh long enough to know he's just a military man that only sees things as black or white."

"Just like our Empress?"

"Lady Terra," Anson growled.

Terra chuckled. "I'm just teasing. But you still know it's true, even if she is the Supreme Commander of all the Imperial Armed Forces."

"Well, even if her perspective is decades old, she'll eventually grow more sensible after spending months with my advisors. At least she's intelligent enough to delegate her authority as needed. I can't imagine any other Emperor allowing the existence of a First Citizen figurehead, much less allow me to keep the authority of the position. This current arrangement with Empress Danielle is impressively-"

"-Progressive?" a teasing smile was on Terra's face.

Anson snorted. "Despite the Empress' predisposition for older, more traditional methods."

"She promised she would pass a subset of the Equality Act," Terra pointed out. "Between that and the success of the army at keeping the people warm and fed throughout the winter season, not to mention the campaigns aimed at pacifying the monster hoards from the Floating Continent, in addition to your economic and social reforms, I think we're doing pretty well. It's difficult to believe you two were once enemies, considering the amount of power you two share."

"Don't believe for a moment that civilian authority means anything," Anson quickly corrected. "At the end of the day, control of the military leads to control of the government. She may dispose of my services at anytime."

"That would be an incredible blunder. The citizens adore you and without your support, the Empire will crumble from within. You should be confident that the Empress would never move against you, especially since you're still popular with the Core garrisons. "

Anson sighed. "You would never think that considering how often she and Donner agree on military matters. Even Caleigh would have balked at the recklessness of her policies. We have manpower shortages due to the release of veterans and conscripts who have finished serving their time, so the Imperial Army is spread thinly maintaining order and keeping the Maverick in check. Yet she begins a new crusade to wipe out monster-kind!"

"I believe it's an excellent idea," Terra gestured widely as she explained her reasoning. "Over the winter months, even citizens in the Imperial Core were harassed by monsters -- to say nothing of those in the outer provinces. In one stroke, she keeps the army from idling and commanders from rebellious thoughts while keeping the peace. It's ingenious."

"It's cavalier and ill-advised, even if she's raising new soldiers to replace those we've lost. Between the cost of settling veterans and training new divisions... I've been verbally sparring with the Duke of Mansfield for several weeks now, but even I'm beginning to agree with him. We need the Armed Forces to stop spending as if it were still the Civil War."

Terra shook her head. "Unbelievable; you and the Duke of Mansfield?"

Anson laughed. "I've never been unreasonable. It's the Duke's sense of morality that runs counter to mine. Now that he's seeing the light, of course we would agree."

"You're so modest, Anson," Terra answered playfully. "Will Lord Mansfield-" she avoided addressing the Duke by his first name in order to prevent starting any rumours, "-be coming to Vector?"

Anson paused, tapping his finger against his lip as he reflected on the past. "Actually, I believe that he was scheduled to arrive this week, but that trip was cancelled; some sort of business of grand importance has developed in his home city," Anson shrugged.

"He was coming here?"

"To discuss Donner's settlement policies, as well as the recent shuffling of military positions. I'm surprised that he called it off," Anson remarked. "Still, I don't blame him. Donner is not one to change his mind, even if he's splitting the army apart with his reorganization. Regardless of the Empress's success, the Triskele Rebellion won't be the last."

"General Alysworth is out there though, so the campaign won't last very long. I'm sure it'll be fine."

"That the city of Vickers rose against the Empress is already enough. Exercising General Alysworth, Lilienthal's former executive officer and someone the Knights of Odin highly respected, was a stroke of genius though. But that kind of gesture only suppresses the rebellion; it fails to address the underlying issues."

"They take offence at the Empress and call her a pretender. Those aren't exactly deep-seated sociological problems that will set the countryside aflame with outrage, Anson."

"It runs much deeper than that, but I'll explain it another time."

"As you wish," Terra's eyes roved over an opened envelope from the typically independent Brigadier Cassidy. "I see that there is some trouble up in Tzen," she concluded.

"It's a forewarning about shipping routes," Anson answered as he searched through the piles in the center of the table. "Cassidy has kept every bit of news close to his chest; he's personally dealing with the matter. It's likely just hot-air and if not, bad news spreads of its own accord." He grinned triumphantly as he pulled out an envelope bearing the Imperial Emblem. The thick, red wax had an elaborately wrought seal pressed into it; impossible to forge.

It was an official message sent from the Empress' aides, if not penned by Danielle herself.

"What is this about?" Terra asked as she took it and broke the seal.

Anson smiled. "I have an idea, but I'll let the Empress's words speak for me."

As Terra read the parchment, her face became paler and her eyes wider with every sentence. When she finally put the letter down, her fingers were shaking.

"Well then, Duchess, how does it feel to be a Peer of the Realm?"

Terra cleared her throat and waved at an aide for some tea. She sank back into her chair, dazed. "I don't believe it," she whispered. "This was your idea, wasn't it?" she asked suspiciously.

Anson shook his head. "Like I said, the Empress is getting quite good at the political game herself, though still a little too blunt. It is, of course, the logical thing to do."

"There's no logic in giving me Remiel's estate!"

Anson laughed. "Of course there is. The Governor's holdings were extensive and the Empress could not show favouritism to any noble house. At the same time, she couldn't simply take or dissolve the peerages and expect the nobles to back her on either course. There's been enough division between herself and what remains of the House of Lords."

"So she's making me Remiel's heir?" Terra groaned. "This is insanity."

"This is the political reality," Anson corrected. "With the dissolution of so many houses due to the Civil War, consolidations of peerages have left a bitter taste in the mouths of all involved; especially after the Driscoll catastrophe. She gained a powerful ally, but the cost..." Anson sighed. "Anyhow, this was probably one of the easiest things for Danielle to do. The Duke of Mansfield enthusiastically supported the measure and with him, most of the nobility."

"And House Sandford?"

"That is an interesting story. Karen Alysworth -- of all people -- noted that you knew the Baron Sandford; I suppose that's a piece of trivia she picked up from Colonel Ferdinand, because there are certainly no official records suggesting anything of the sort. Since those holdings were minimal and the Baron also lacking heirs, giving it to you seemed the easiest way to avoid further outrage amongst the nobles."

Terra moaned. "Ridiculous, I barely knew Marcus."

"And yet you're on a first-name basis with the Baron," Anson teased. "You don't really have to worry. The estates are being taken care of, I've already gone over the details and assigned an aide to the task. It's just paperwork."

Terra let Danielle's letter slip out of her fingers. "So what am I supposed to be now?" she asked, confused by the proper treatment of the matter.

"Technically, while it's possible to claim the Governance, that would be impolitic. Instead, your title would be the Duchess Lilienthal."

Terra felt a little bit nauseous. "I'd prefer to not be called that. It doesn't sound right."

"That's perfectly acceptable. The Baroness Sandford is also available, or any number of other smaller peerages that once belonged to the late Governor. However, few that you meet on a day to day basis will address you as anything aside from Lady Terra and of course, as Sophis and an Avatar of the Goddess, you are far above mere Peers."

The pair thanked their aide as he delivered their pot of tea. Terra poured herself a steaming cup and tasted it. With a frown, she willed it lukewarm and finished her drink.

"You also have another letter from General Starson, carried by bird from the Wilds. That would be the fourth this month, no? My, what a blossoming friendship," he said teasingly.

Terra growled as she poured herself more tea. "It's not like that. We've just never had the time to catch up on everything that's happened over the fall and winter. As well, he's a Major-General now, so he felt it proper to use his privileges and keep in touch with politics of the capital."

"Of course," Anson was clearly unconvinced.

Terra rolled her eyes. "I would do the same if we were separated, Anson. There's too much to learn; I can't waste a moment. Anyhow, unless there's something about being the Sophis that forbids friendship..."

"Actually, I think one of the books might even suggest it would be desirable if you found a close companion," Anson handed over Farin's letter. "Though I am in no position to tell you otherwise -- you certainly are adhering to my suggestion of following your instincts -- I would humbly suggest someone just a mite younger."

Terra swiped Farin's letter out of Anson's hand, glaring at his stately visage with scorn.

"There is one last matter though, before I leave for this meeting with General Donner," Anson's playful grin faded away.

Terra had already opened the letter from her friend. "What is that, Anson?" she asked, suppressing the desire to read and listen at the same time.

"He's back from Callaghan."

Terra's eyes widened and she felt a shiver travel down her back. "What?" she whispered.

"I have it on good authority that he accompanied Colonel Ferdinand back to Vector, probably as an escort."

"Why wouldn't he get in touch with me? Did something happen? Is he hurt?"

Anson shook his head. "Sorry, but nothing seems amiss."

Terra's chest heaved. "Locke..." she whispered.

"I can arrange something," Anson pointed out, concerned by her worry. "So long as they're in the Empire, they serve me."

"No, it's alright. As long as he's safe, then I'm satisfied," she lied.

Anson looked skeptical. "Well, I'll make sure the guards won't hinder him. I'm sure he has a reason and when he's ready, he'll come by."

Terra nodded. "I hope so," she whispered.

---

Locke Cole rolled out of bed. He hit the floor with a crash, moaned in pain, and then got to his feet. He stumbled around, dizzy and certainly nauseous, and managed to pull on a clean shirt.

"Thank the Empress that the Colonel paid for an inn, instead of putting us up at the garrison," Stefan Malsbury's voice was a throaty growl that was punctuated by moans. He was the only one sitting in a chair, though his naked upper body laid across the table in the center of their room.

Locke grunted in acknowledgment as he sat across from the young Imperial Guardsman. The kid's red hair was ruffled, still dirty from the night before. He was unshaven and eyes bloodshot.

"I mean, if we were in the garrison, the Lieutenant would kill us all if the Master Sergeant didn't get us first."

"I believe I am a Lieutenant," came a rasp from the third bed in the room.

Locke chuckled. "Are you going to get up, Sherwood?"

"It's your turn to talk to the Colonel," he growled. "Now shut up before I start pulling rank on you rambunctious peons." Sherwood rolled onto his stomach and pulled the woollen covers over his head.

"How eloquent for a drunk-"

The door opened suddenly, without a knock. The three recovering men barely bothered looking up. Even if it was the Colonel, it was too late to do anything about it. They would be punished and that was that.

"Still suffering from last night I see," Anthony strolled into the room with a pitcher of foul-smelling stuff. He set the white and yellow emulsion in front of Stefan and Locke, the vapours causing both to retch. "You fools do realize it's past noon, right?"

Stefan pitched over the side of the table and started vomiting.

"Right," Anthony pointed at the pitcher. "Start drinking, this will ease the effects of all that ale."

Locke stared at the white liquid, eyes narrowing on the strange floating bits. "I'm good, thanks," he decided as he straightened up.

"Your eyes say otherwise," Anthony poured a glass and set it in front of Locke. "As the only qualified medic in this group of fine gentlemen -- who so bravely went ale for ale with some of the basest, most offensive-smelling lowlifes in our great capital -- I'm ordering you morons each to drink at least a glass of my father's secret remedy."

Locke eyed the flakes floating in a sea of white swirls and shuddered.

---

"Where's Stefan?" Locke asked as he leaned against a brand new street-lamp. His stomach still burned from Anthony's horrid concoction, but at least he managed to keep lunch down.

Sherwood readjusted his leather armor. "He's gone back to the field, his squad's out there and the Colonel's notice was only for half the day. Oh, and Anthony's taken one for the team and he's going to meet the Colonel for us."

Locke nodded. "That was one crazy night," he said, making small talk as he eyed the rebuilt streets of Vector. "Now where to?"

Sherwood grunted. "We're going to the Imperial Palace, even if I have to drag you there myself."

Locke's eyes narrowed. He folded his arms. "I don't remember-"

"They're my orders, not the Colonel's. I have a good feeling why you managed to outdrink me, and it's not because of any of your taunts."

"But I am a bigger man, dear Sherwood," Locke sneered, trying to cover up his anxiety.

Sherwood remained silent as a pair of girls forced their way past, both seemingly in a hurry. The two teenagers were giggling. "The First Citizen and Lady Terra will both be in the Throne Room today! We have to go! They're never there together!" one mentioned.

Locke's heart sank at mention of her name.

"Were you there for the opening of Imperial Way last month? They looked so great together, so regal beside the Empress!"

The two girls disappeared into the crowd and Sherwood pulled Locke along.

"Listen, Sherwood," Locke started.

"You're going to talk to Terra, and you're going to remove whatever wedge that's come between the two of you," Sherwood growled.

"Dammit Sherwood, I don't need you interfering with my life," Locke pulled his arm away from his friend.

Sherwood kept walking through the crowd. "You think I got this rank for no reason? I'm not an idiot, Locke. I know when something's wrong and I think I've been silent long enough. As your friend, I'm going to make sure you get over this mess, because after so many months, I know you're not going to do it without someone forcing the issue. I swear you take the most runabout way in order to accomplish anything! Now stop complaining, you've already drank enough for courage."

Locke opened his mouth, but was speechless. He stewed angrily for a moment as he followed Sherwood. "Damn mannerless Imperials," he grumbled at last.

"Still brainless," Sherwood sneered back.

The two men made their way through Vector, getting lost twice thanks to the twisting roads, but got ever closer to the Imperial Palace. It was hard to truly get lost in the capital; the palace and its colossal black walls were visible from practically anywhere. Had it been overcast and a fog settling in, perhaps the landmark would have been obscured. But it was a sunny day and the skies were a deep shade of blue.

At last they stopped in front of the gates. The grand archway stretched so high that it strained the neck to follow the walls upward.

"That's strange," Sherwood remarked.

"The gates are down," Locke looked around. Guards were on the other side of the gate, solid beams of iron between them and the rest of Vector. Locke waved at one of the soldiers, but they ignored him.

"I thought the Palace was open to the public," Sherwood mumbled.

Locke folded his arms. "Those girls passing by us seemed to imply they thought so as well. I don't see anyone lined up though."

Sherwood shook his head. "The gates are never down, even if the palace is closed. Supplicants always arrive to see the Empress. It's always been that way. It's not like they're lacking the manpower to patrol corridors that would actually be off-limits."

Locke frowned. "Do you think something's wrong?"

"I can't imagine it," Sherwood reasoned. "It's the Imperial Palace. There's a battalion on standby at all times and in addition to that, we've got the Home Division guarding Vector itself. And it's not like the army is sitting idly on its hands. We're still completely mobilized. Nothing gets through."

Locke still couldn't shake the weird feeling. "What if we're dealing with the Guild? They've been quiet for months now."

"That's because we've killed everyone that could possibly function as an infiltration team," Sherwood shook his head. "The Maverick's taken such horrendous casualties outside of his conventional forces, I can't imagine what he could try to accomplish."

"I can," Locke answered grimly.

"Still, there's no evidence that anything is wrong," Sherwood pointed out.

"That's never stopped us before," they shared a chuckle between close comrades. Locke shook his arms from side to side. "Let's go."

"Go? Go where?"

---

Terra was leaving the throne room, still astonished by the sheer lack of supplicants, and stewed over Farin's latest letter. He had succeeded of course; Farin's ability to lead was never in doubt. His latest mission was a simplistic, self-imposed exercise in patience; rebuilding those forward bases in the Wilds had been nothing more than a long and arduous task. But that was over and Farin was finally returning home to Tzen.

No, the problems he was having were of a moral contention and Terra wondered what advice she should give. Certainly he had a point; integrity was important and he had to adhere to his moral code. However, considering his rank it was disturbing at how easily he lost perspective.

"Ah!" Terra exclaimed. She waved at Anson and Pierce -- the long-haired Magitek Knight that was both a Loyalist and one of her staunchest bodyguards -- and quickly climbed down the short steps of the Marble Square.

"Lady Terra!" Anson's head was bowed ever so slightly. He grimaced as sunlight caught him in the eye and found solace beneath one of the great oaks. The other three bodyguards -- two Imperial Guardsmen and one in plain leather armor -- made themselves inconspicuous. "I was just looking for you. There's been a bit of a break in our research; I bring great news from the labs."

"What is it, Anson?" Terra asked. "Or more importantly, on what topic? Your people are working on so many things that I can't keep up. Even the summaries are too technical for me, though I guess I could just read them with a dictionary."

Anson opened a folder. "The head researcher has announced he has successfully duplicated the side-effects of those Floating Continent beams. The material coming out of that controlled environment, the black glass, is of incredible resiliency. We think that with a couple more generations of refinement, one could line it about a chamber and increase the heat contained-"

Terra frowned. "This doesn't sound all that interesting," she interrupted. "Or important for that matter."

"I'm sorry, it's just that this kind of breakthrough rarely happens," Anson excused himself. "I'm still a scientist, even if politics have distanced me from my calling. Such an advance in materials science will bring forth all sorts of improvements to existing machines, like higher-efficiency engines, and allows for the containment of vast amounts of energy gathered during-"

"That's fantastic," Terra interrupted. She pointed back at the throne room. "On another matter, did you speak with General Donner? There have been no supplicants today."

Anson's brow furrowed. "I did; yesterday. He said he didn't know anything about a new troop rotation but would address the problem soon. He thinks it's just some aide overstepping his bounds, but if it's important we could meet within the hour."

Terra nodded. "That would be best; I think we should both have a long chat with General Donner."

As she turned aside though, she felt something else. It was a subconscious vibe, an instinct that inundated her soul with trouble. Without reason, she held out her hands and let the power flow. Ripples of energy pulsed around her hands -- to what effect, even she was unsure -- and the air seemed to waver back and forth as she allowed the spell to gather form.

"Sophis?" Anson asked.

Pierce's sword was already out though, concern for the Sophis' mood being addressed immediately. The three guards with them also drew their weapons, polearms and blades readied.

"Brace yourself," Terra whispered.

A shockwave exploded forth, almost sending the magically-attuned Loyalists and their guards to the ground. But they remained standing and watched as the rippling air blasted down all the corridors of the palace. The oaks bellowed back and the many rows of flowers exploded in a shower of pedals.

Barely ten strides away, five men appeared out of thin air and were sent flying into the walls.

"Intruders!" Anson screamed. A fireball appeared in his hand as Pierce charged forth, muscles bulging as he swung. A trail of black-smoke followed the blade's path, white-hot flames swirling about the deadly weapon.

Terra growled as the feelings of trouble did not subside. "Once again they stealth themselves. Sound, sight, and magic, they're just getting better and better!" she glared down the hall as Pierce and another soldier cut into the off-balance intruders.

Then she felt it.

"The Shroud!" Terra screamed as she spun around.

Of the three soldiers with them, one was halfway upon her. His dagger dug into her shoulder, drawing a scream as Terra's spell vanished in the rush of pain.

The soldier sneered at her, but his eyes told another story that was filled with terror and sorrow. Terra's eyes watered as she glared back, not from pain but from rage.

He gasped, the life seeping from his eyes.

Terra's hands were warm. She looked down in confusion at her blood-soaked arm, her hand shaking as she twisted Farin's dagger with finality.

"Sophis!" Anson shouted. "Pierce, the alarm!"

Pierce cleaved the last man's head off, hungry crimson flames devouring what little flesh it could taste. The Magitek Knight shouted something back at Anson, but Terra was oblivious. Her hand was hurting and she glanced down to see white knuckles of a death grip around the bloody heirloom dagger. She slipped it back into the concealed sheath near her heart as her ears began to ring.

Terra stumbled to her knees. She covered her ears -- that damned noise! -- and wondered why the world seemed to be swimming. Gritting her teeth, she reached up and tore the knife from her shoulder.

Anson scrambled to her side, hands glowing with pulsating waves of azure haze. The warmth of his magic flooded her body as flesh began to mend.

"G-Guild," Terra managed to gasp. Her head was still spinning, but Anson's magic was clearing the cobwebs away. Yet something else was wrong. It was oddly difficult to breathe, and try as she might, her throat felt completely constricted.

A shrill, screeching horn began to blare. Pierce had finally raised the alarm.

"Sophis? What's wrong?" Anson asked.

Terra coughed, struggling to breathe. She opened her mouth with great effort, but barely managed a sound. Her other hand lifted the traitor's dagger.

"Hunter's Dreams," Anson whispered as he examined the thin layer of gauze. "Dammit!" he swore as he called to the Imperial Guardsmen with him. "I need a counter-agent, now!"

Terra blinked twice, focusing her inner strength as she willed herself back to her feet. The power within was stirring to life and she gave into it, providing the conduit it needed to manifest.

Nothing happened.

Terra tried to swear, but even that was impossible.

"Drink this," Anson handed her a small, glass bottle filled with a bluish liquid. "It's just a generic counter-poison so don't expect much, but it will keep the poison from affecting you any further until we get real medical attention. It's nothing to worry about, the traitor didn't have anything exotic and it can't possibly kill you."

Terra forced the foul liquid down her swollen throat. It went down slowly and she had to take small sips lest the liquid choke her.

Anson got to his feet as nearly three dozen additional guards arrived. There were well over a thousand soldiers within the confines of the Imperial Palace at all times, but at the moment, Terra found herself suspicious of many of the new faces. It seemed Anson was no different, he handpicked several soldiers -- all wearing the black trim of the Imperial Guard -- and they formed a barrier between her and everyone else.

"Pierce, we're getting out of the palace!" Anson growled.

The Magitek Knight led the way, his flaming-sword a beacon as dozens of soldiers fell into ranks behind the Magitek Knight. The sound of battle could be heard down the other wings of the palace, but they had been given very specific orders. They stormed as a phalanx through the wide corridors, collecting additional guards and encountering no resistance until...

The entrance to the Imperial Palace was wide-open.

A Magitek Armor toppled to the ground with a colossal tremor, the inside of the Aegis enclosure dripping with blood. Dozens of soldiers had been slaughtered, burnt to ash or blown off the high platform and down hundreds of steps. Several more Armors laid upon those marble stairs, their frames broken into several smoking pieces. Dozens of soldiers swarmed around the metallic hulks and advanced up the stairway.

Terra grabbed Anson by the back of his shirt, her face twisted with anger as she felt the maddening suffocation of the Shroud. He raised an arm and halted their forces.

Catherine -- her short blond-hair so unbecoming that one could mistake her for a man -- gripped her short sword with both hands. It glowed icy-blue as she slew two barbarians before being thrown backwards into the air. She landed in a heap in front of Pierce, the men of the Imperial Palace maintaining formation patiently.

Soldiers of the Empire did not give way. Especially not before the entrance of Imperial Palace, and certainly not when the First Citizen was amongst them!

To her credit, Catherine pulled herself up immediately. She wiped the blood off her mouth, dropping her cloak in the process. Her form-fitting dark-leather armor was bloody but the Magitek Knight seemed not to mind. Her off-hand reached not for the daggers or crossbow strapped to her back, but rather for her second short sword. As she drew the blade, it came alive with red-hot flames.

Terra's eyes narrowed as her mind pierced the gloom.

He wore the grey of the Guild, the first man reach the entrance of the Imperial Palace. Terra's stomach was a pit of fire, the heat rising from the depths of her soul when she saw his grey robes and white sash. He was in the center of that cancerous dark aura, the leader of this curse upon civilization.

The memory of Clarkson floated into her mind. Never again.

Terra pointed at him and willed his death.

"Seconds later and we would've been inside the palace," the Guild member scoffed arrogantly as he stood before the ranks of Imperial soldiers. He was oblivious of Terra's attempted and failed attack.

Behind him, dozens of the barbarian forces fell into ranks as four more grey-robed members of the Guild arrived at the front. "I have to hand it to you, that blasphemous false idol of yours is skilled with what few, pathetic abilities she has, Tilton."

The moustached man glared through the crowd of Palace guards and met the astonished face of the First Citizen.

"Jonathan," Anson whispered. "By the Goddess, what have you done?"

Terra turned to the First Citizen who had advanced a protective step in front of her. This could not have been a mere coincidence; Anson had never served in the army! He had befriended very few Magitek Knights before the Civil War.

"That would be Compatriot Caldwell to you, you insolent savage," their leader growled. "I have been blessed by the Patrician himself, given this Righteous and Holy Crusade to destroy your false prophet. You should be honoured that He would deem thee worthy of being cleansed by a Compatriot."

"You will not use that tone, you treacherous fool!" Anson pointed at Caldwell.

At first, it was imperceptible save to the finest Magitek Knights, but Terra not only sensed it, she recognized the deadly spell cast. She covered her eyes just before a flash of yellow light blinded everyone nearby.

Caldwell chuckled condescendingly as the light faded away. "That was the best you could do?" he sneered. "Perhaps even Enlightenment would be insufficient for you deluded fools!" His hands shot forth and he gritted his teeth... but nothing happened.

"You will find that your tricks of air do not work," Anson folded his arms. "If you think you can break the defenders of the Imperial Palace with your deceptions, you are truly insane."

The sneer vanished, though the scorn on Caldwell's face remained. "Arrogant to the end, Tilton," tendrils of electricity seemed to flow from his fingers, swirling around his body in concentric patterns. "Peers, fellow Enlightened, kill the savages."

The Guild Members were already in motion.

The clash of elements, fire, ice, air, water and lightning smashed into an equally powerful counter-wall, liquid magic splashing to the ground and exploding upon contact. Ripples of energy struck back and forth, breaking upon yellow auras and indiscriminately shearing flesh, bone, rock and steel. Twin beams of brilliant red light, blinding to the eye and nigh-inconceivable in heat, scorched through the line of soldiers and set them all aflame before a horrendous counter-blast of thunder tore flesh from bone.

As the Magitek Knights warred between each other, spells of brilliance and cascades of coloured lights concealing the deadly nature of that conflict, hundreds of traitors upon hundreds of steps charged into the storm of chaos. The stalwart, outnumbered soldiers of the Empire stood firm, rank upon rank, lowered their blades, and greeted their treacherous comrades the only way they knew how.

Terra felt someone pull her back through the collapsing ranks as she railed against the poison coursing through her veins. She screamed voicelessly in frustration as men died all about her, powerless to prevent the senseless slaughter, incapable of even protecting herself, much less exact vengeance for all that had fallen to these barbaric bastards! Blood splattered against the side of her face as one man's side burst apart, the burning fumes of her dying protectors entering her soul.

She couldn't see the bullrush of the Maverick's men, but she felt that accursed darkness. It was a scourge upon the world, a pestilence in the fabric of existence. The white sheen invaded the corners of her vision; seraphic powers swirled about her, but try as she might, they slipped from her grasp.

Damn the Guild!

The stairs began to collapse, the walls melted and the roof above them shattered from the force of magic. Soldiers stood their ground, filling the gaps as the friends before them exploded in a spray of blood, crushed by the falling structure, or pierced by plain old steel. Through all the screams of rage, pain, and death thundering upon the footsteps of the Imperial Palace, one cry pierced through the bloodbath.

"Glory to the Empire!" Anson Tilton, First Citizen, held aloft a double-bladed dagger dripping with gore. A ball of fire twice height rotated above him, crimson flames swirling with need.

With a thundering cry of battle, the defenders of the Imperial Palace charged forward, blades piercing and shields bashing against the wall of treacherous flesh, even as spells were exchanged that tore reality apart and threatened to destroy them all.

The battle had just begun.

---

Locke and Sherwood charged through an iron door that had been long forgotten, even in the recent days when so much of Vector had been closely examined, redesigned, and then rebuilt. What silence there had been in the deep places beneath the Imperial Palace had been broken by the screams of the dying.

Upon the catwalks that surrounded the center of the Empire, with the backdrop of a rebuilt, peaceful Vector that had no idea that its palace was under attack, the two men's footsteps were a steady rumble as they dashed around the periphery.

Locke stumbled.

Sherwood immediately dropped to a crouch, crossbows defending the two men as Locke pulled himself back up. "What happened?" he asked once he was sure they were not under attack.

Locke shook his head. "I'm not sure, I just feel... sluggish."

Sherwood eyed his partner. "If it's the alcohol-"

"No," Locke straightened. He stared suspiciously at his hand as he rotated his arm. His shoulder ached. "It's just a passing feeling," he lied. "I'm fine."

"Good, we can't afford-"

"Let's go already!" Locke interrupted. They couldn't afford to delay any longer!

The entrance to the Palace was rubble, platforms barely standing as the foundations had been blown apart and structural pillars were teetering from side to side. The gap between the catwalks and the entrance platform was easily two men across, and the fall was most definitely fatal. The majestic marble stairway had collapsed on itself, so hot that it had become red, angry molten lava. The huge multi-ton doors had been blown from their hinges and tossed aside like their smaller, wooden cousins.

The two archers drew their bows.

"We should relieve the gate," Sherwood remarked as they saw the eerily familiar scene. Hundreds of dead soldiers laid amongst the rubble, most bodies an unidentifiable mass of blackened flesh, and there were several Magitek Armors torn to pieces. The flags of the Imperial Emblem were burning still, thick knots of black smoke rising into the clear sky.

"There's no way to get down there and then get back up" Locke pointed out. He rolled his stiff shoulder. "Anyways, the burning flags should draw plenty of attention."

Sherwood nodded. He glanced around nervously. "A Guild attack for sure," he grumbled as he examined the bodies from afar. Fire, ice, the scorching marks that both knew belonged to lightning spells, and there were even corpses that had been torn apart, limbs flying everywhere with only a splatter of blood to mark the killing blow.

An arrow shot forth and split a soldier's skull in half. The surprised target collapsed in a growing pool of blood, dead beside one of the broken doors.

Locke shook his hands from side to side and then drew another arrow. "Questions later."

Sherwood was already jumping across the gap, taking advantage of Locke's cover. He rolled to his feet and returned the favour for his partner. Now they were before the entrance of the Imperial Palace, in terrible moods and grimly determined.

The two men charged inside, nocked bows sweeping side to side as each scanned for any sign of the enemy. The polished graphite of the lobby was slick with blood, bodies everywhere and spells from the magical warfare still alive; unnatural fires were actually devouring solid stone. The walls were rent apart, slashed by blades or blown to rubble. Several columns and many marble statues had been shattered. It seemed that a few soldiers had been thrown with such force that their crippled bodies actually broke through stone pillars.

They continued forward, wading around, over and through the sea of corpses without a glance downward. Judging by how the fallen were bunched up in waves, there wasn't much doubt that a fighting retreat had been underway.

A retreat into the palace; the invaders were winning.

Noting the number of holes in the walls, still molten pools of metal, shattered stone and outlines of men burnt into the floor, Locke knew that the Guild had gone all-out this time. His knuckles were white around his bow shaft as his boots sank into the blood-soaked carpets.

The pair approached the Marble Square where both men could see the vanguard left behind by the enemy: a single squadron of soldiers, several wounded and the others too fatigued to continue. It was a pitiful team that should have already been attrited. They leaned against the huge beheaded centerpiece or rested beneath the oaks; hiding from the light of the sun.

Locke and Sherwood rained arrows upon their enemy, striking four before the rest dived behind the desecrated statue. The two men proceeded forward and followed an unspoken plan. They took cover behind support pillars and advanced one at a time, the other maintaining guard. Six more barbarians were down before Locke and Sherwood exchanged a deadly look.

Twin crossbows revealed as sleeves were pulled back. The two men charged deep into their foes and into the sunlight, the tips of their arrows shining as bowstrings were drawn back. Two more fell and bolts maimed the rest. Both replaced their bows calmly even as the few soldiers remaining charged with pointed blades. Daggers flew forth and embedded into those still standing, and then Sherwood picked up an axe and hacked one that had managed to resist the poison of their crossbow bolts.

Reloads were made quickly, professionally. Never once was either man defenceless without the other's cover. They confirmed their kills and exchanged another look.

The Throne Room, of course.

---

Blood-soaked grey robes collapsed to the ground, his head on the other side of the room and his throat aflame. The cadaver hit the lush, crimson carpet and sprawled out. One arm had been frozen stiff, so brittle that it shattered upon hitting the soft, velvet embroidery of the Imperial Emblem. Blood poured out of the former-Magitek Knight's body and leaked all over the black symbol of the Empire.

Pierce's sword was all that was between him and an entire squad of barbarians.

Terra screamed voicelessly as Anson ducked beneath an errant arrow. The Starson dagger took yet another life and Terra stumbled over the corpse. An Imperial Guardsmen reached out and caught her. Her saviour's eyes went wide and blood bubbled out of his mouth.

Anson pulled her aside as he threw a ball of fire into their closest pursuer. He spun towards her, his eyes wide with panic. "The Throne, please!" he shouted breathlessly. His double-bladed dagger dripped with blood as he directed the two men around him -- his last personal escorts -- towards the throne. "You two, the stairs with your lives!"

Terra knew what Anson was going to do. He was going to have her hide behind the Throne, raised and secured from the rest of the room. There she would be safe, behind barriers of magic and secured behind the only remaining chokepoint, while Anson and his men fought a hopeless battle along the stairs.

And she could do nothing to help.

Gritting her teeth in rage, she reluctantly climbed the stairs as both Imperial Guardsmen took their places. There was a moment of resistance -- the air itself was thicker than normal -- and then she found herself before the Throne. Her eyes turned back towards the battle.

They had failed to stop the Guild at the entrance, and what few soldiers had reinforced their position at the Marble Square were insignificant compared to those that joined with the barbarians. From the eastern and western wings came over forty more to Compatriot Caldwell's aid, amongst them an additional four wearing grey robes.

The gates to the Throne Room had been breached by columns of fire, melting a hole through a foot of solid iron. Those loyal and still standing had done the best they could, totally outnumbered and outmatched. Soldiers were blasted through support beams, statues, and even walls.

There were few allies left. In the center, Catherine and two soldiers were surrounded by three grey robes and over a dozen barbarians. To the side, Pierce was alone against a squad of brown-leathers. He danced around the marble supports with his flaming longsword.

_Pierce!_

Terra tried to scream a warning at him, the long-haired Magitek Knight winded and no longer paying attention to his surroundings. He backed into a pillar, the surprise enough that his blade was knocked aside by a dangerous blow. The white-hot metal deeply embedded itself into more white marble, and then three leather-armored men of the Maverick's pounced on him.

_No!_

Anson charged from the stairs as Catherine's escort fell. She was surrounded now, with the leader -- Caldwell -- directing lightning bolts into her sickly shield. The carpeted floor burst aflame about her, the yellow hue barely resisting enough energy to keep her alive.

The First Citizen was only seconds from Catherine when he screamed in pain. He flew backwards against his will, but managed to land upright. His double-bladed dagger parried a blow to his spine, and then Anson slew one of the few grunts still standing.

Divide and conquer, Terra's eyes widened when she saw two of the three remaining Guild Members approach Anson.

They were all going to die.

The dozen that had killed Pierce charged up the stairs. Near the bottom, it was as wide as the room but as one climbed, the steps became narrower until there was barely enough space for three men to stand abreast. It was there that Terra's guards stood; two were all that remained to protect her and though they fought with passion, the result was already evident.

Yet with her own death moments away, Terra wanted nothing more than to dive into the thick of battle and tear the enemy apart with her own hands. She thought of nothing but killing the insolent Guild Members that dared strike at them -- the enemy she had ignored for the last three months!

Her hand shot out, her eyes rolling back into her skull as Terra tried again to cast. It was like drawing breath underwater! She collapsed to the ground, gasping from effort, and voicelessly screamed in frustration.

---

Anson knew the odds. He also knew that the Guild was fighting against the clock. They might have managed to sneak into the Palace with their tricks, but they were ultimately outnumbered and surprise long since worn off. His own protective cordon had been slaughtered to the last man but not without a fight! He might have been all that stood between two grey-robes and the Sophis, but Catherine still fought on and the enemy had dwindled to perhaps two-dozen.

"Anson," the Guild Member on his left spoke. "Step aside. We're not here for you, but for that false idol behind you."

Anson stood his ground, constantly surrounded by a yellow-hue for spells were still being exchanged; though none were visibly destructive. "Michael," he shook his head. "You were never a traitor."

"Peer Michael," the former-Magitek Knight corrected. "And you wouldn't understand, not until we show you! Not until you meet him! Please Anson, the offer's still on the table. No matter what Compatriot Caldwell says, the Patrician has always wanted you to join us!"

"Show me what?"

"The error of your ways," was the response. "You're protecting a beast that will destroy us all. She's no Avatar, but a crime against nature."

Anson scoffed. "You were never a believer; the only person you ever followed was Emperor Gestahl. You can't imagine why I follow the Sophis' lead."

"Oh, but we do know about your Sophis and even your secretive, tiny little sect of Loyalists," Michael folded his arms. "We know everything you know, and more! We have been visited, Anson! The Counsellor has returned to us and has shown us the future. She-" a misshapen finger pointed at the Sophis, "-will plunge the world into darkness, and so will this Empire! Only through Enlightenment will humanity be saved from another War of the Magi."

"The Counsellor?"

"The true Avatar; not this mixed-blood aberration," Michael grinned. "The Gods are returning! And we, the Enlightened, are destined to welcome them from their slumber! Join us, Anson!"

Anson quickly looked back. She had collapsed to her knees, the poison attacking her body from within. Yet still, she was watching them. Her eyes took in everything, committing all to memory and never forgetting those who sacrificed for her life. There was nothing there but the desire to help others.

She was his Purpose.

Anson's teeth ground against each other as he saw the squad that swarmed the stairs to the Throne. He had to take a chance.

The one on his right took an aggressive step forward. The Guild Member's hands were aflame, blue-white fire obscuring what flesh there was. His eyes were hooded, but there was no mistaking the stone-face beneath. "Enough talk," he said condescendingly. "This is your last chance, savage. You will join us, or-" the man stumbled forward, coughing.

"Corian?" Michael turned to his fellow Guild Member.

Anson slammed his dagger through Michael's temple. With a final word, he jumped back just as the wound began to glow.

Fire erupted around the bleeding flesh and seared the former-Magitek Knight's face. Michael toppled over at the same time as his stone-faced partner collapsed to the ground, red steam escaping Corian's mouth as his insides evaporated.

Anson muttered a prayer of thanks for their over-confidence as Catherine nearly backed into him. Her hands were out, shield visibly wavering as pulsating waves of electricity washed over her.

He saw the crossbow still strapped to her back, miraculously still in one piece. Without a second thought, he ripped it from her dark leather armor. "Catherine!" he shouted as he combined his power with hers.

The lightning bolts split apart as their united shield hardened against the onslaught. Tendrils of blinding light smashed into the walls and shorn them in half. The palace roof shook as many of its supports were shattered.

Catherine tore at her belt and tossed the bolts to him. He caught two, the rest rolling aside and bursting aflame the moment they left the protective aura of their spells.

"Anson you deluded fool! You can't save the bitch!" Caldwell screamed. The lightning stopped and the remaining dozen men charged.

Catherine met the closest with her dagger, both short swords long since lost in the chaotic retreat. Anson scrambled to load the crossbow, swearing as the mechanism seemed reluctant to pry apart like it always did. With a groan, he snapped the bolt into place and pointed at the mass of men.

The bolt slammed through the leather armor of a nameless, faceless man in the midst of the dozen. It flashed blood-red and then an explosion rocked the Throne Room. A fireball incinerated their enemies before they could scream, and a ring of expanding flame consumed the rest.

Caldwell charged forward through the flames, his cry of anger bringing a smile to Anson's face. Anson reloaded the crossbow as quick as he could. He heard Catherine cry out, but ignored it and instead turned to the Throne.

The men upon the steps were too widely spread apart to kill with one shot. They had cautiously advanced, killing one of two remaining Imperial Guardsmen without letting their emotions get the best of them.

And still the Sophis only watched him; her only concern was for his well-being.

No choice.

Anson's crossbow pointed directly at the Sophis.

She did not even blink.

A green wall shimmered, catching the bolt in the air just inches from the Sophis' face. And then the small, gliphed projectile exploded into flames, reflecting back down the stairs and consuming all in its path.

Anson spun back around.

Catherine groaned, pitching forward with her abdomen split open. She sprawled face-first upon the bloody Imperial Emblem centered in the Throne Room, clutching at her bleeding midsection.

Compatriot Caldwell, moustache singed but otherwise healthy, stood over her. His face was a mask of rage. "Just delaying the inevitable, Anson!" he shouted.

With a wave of the hand, a shockwave blasted towards the throne. The ripple in the air -- distorting the images behind -- melted the ceiling, floor, and walls as it slammed into twin green hues. The reflected magic tore into his rear, Anson groaning as the spell threatened to break him on two fronts. He focused on the image of his Sophis and with a moan, he dissipated the superheated volleys of air.

"Very well," Caldwell's lip twisted. "I will enjoy tearing you apart, and then killing the bitch with my own two hands."

Anson did not have to look back. He knew the Sophis still stood her ground, defenceless thanks to treachery but her spirit as strong as ever.

"You're a fool, Jonathan," Anson brought his double-bladed dagger out. A bead of sweat ran down his neck. "This Guild will fall; it's just a matter of time now."

Caldwell laughed. "The Gods are on our side, you ignorant savage."

Anson's blade pointed at the Guild Compatriot, the crimson sheen coalescing into drops of blood. "Of course, which is why you now face me, your equal in spells and a man whose martial skills defeated Hector Caleigh." He blinked away the sweat that had fallen into his eyes. "I hope getting a dozen of our brothers killed was worth it, Jonathan.

"A Holy Crusade is never without loss. This is but a test of our resolve, our belief in what is True and Just. My fellow Peers knew the risks," the air about Caldwell's hands seem to distort, a wickedly curved cutlass seeming to float in his hands. "It is unfortunate that you will not see how truly deluded you are, for when the Statues shatter and the Gods return, then you will know humility."

Twin spells collided, energy between them splitting upon defensive yellow hued-shields and shattering the metallic floor into thousands of pieces. Sparks flew and corpses caught aflame, and then the two Magitek Knights were upon each other, blade against blade, will against will.

Faith against faith.

---

Locke's dull-black dagger rammed into the heavy-set, walking armoury that had attempted to accost him. The soldier collapsed to the ground, his plate armor clattering as the corpse rolled aside.

These men were elite -- he flexed his back, still warm and probably charred from a blast of flame -- and incredibly dangerous! His arm shuddered as he pressed down on the trigger, a bolt embedded squarely between the eyes of the last Guild Member.

Their numbers were unbelievable. Locke never knew so many Magitek Knights existed, much less opposing the Empire and managing to sneak into the Imperial Palace!

"Sherwood!" he exclaimed.

The archer leaned against the wall, his arm a mass of blood. Leather armor had been torn to shreds, shoulder guard ripped aside and a lengthy cut travelling down his bicep.

Locke put his knives aside. "How did you get caught with your pants down?" he asked as he pulled out bandages from his pack.

"Damn grey-robed bastard had a dagger hidden, by magic I guess," Sherwood moaned as he slid down the wall. He could barely sit upright, cursing all the while as Locke tightened the bandages. "Forget me, I'll be fine."

"Shut up, a cut to the arm and you're falling all over yourself. You look like you're dying."

"I can't feel my legs," Sherwood muttered. He groaned again as pressure was applied to his wound. "Dammit Locke, forget it! Just get to the Throne Room. These bastards chased us down so desperately..."

Locke stood. "Fine," he said, knowing his partner was right. "You clean up that wound fast! I need you to watch my back." He waited for the nod and with one last look at his wounded friend, dashed down the hall.

He could hear the explosions coming from the Throne Room. The entire hallway was vibrating from magical combat. Locke's heart pumped as he reloaded his crossbows on the fly. His legs felt like they would give out, they were stiff and he didn't understand why. Sweat ran down his brow as he struggled to keep up his pace.

They were going after Terra again. Locke swore. In the Imperial Palace, of all places! Was there no place in the world where she would be safe? What did he have to do to ensure her security?

This had to be treachery. Someone on the inside had to have let the Maverick and his damned Guild in.

Locke knew he was panicking. His headlong rush was reckless but he couldn't seem to calm himself down. His legs felt like they would stop moving if he gave them the chance, so Locke simply ignored the burning sensation in all his muscles.

The iron doors of the Throne Room were no longer, melted into pools of metal that had already cooled down and hardened. His heart skipped a beat and the phantom wound upon his chest grew painful. Without any regard for his own safety, Locke drew his bow on the fly and jumped through the rubble.

Across the sea of corpses, Terra was by the throne on her knees. His heart jumped, seeing her again for the first time in months. She was mostly unharmed; her tunic was torn near the shoulder, she was covered with blood that could not be hers, yet she still an angelic presence. The anguish on her face made him ache.

Locke felt the pressure lift from his shoulders when his eyes noted the haze of energy protecting her. Bless the designers of the Throne Room! His attention turned to the center of the chamber.

Anson Tilton and some moustached Guild Member tore each other apart, the very ground beneath them breaking apart as they battled. Already the metallic plating had been shorn aside, their footing careless upon steel beams that had once supported the floor. Chaos was their duel; ripples of heat, shockwaves of air, prismatic blasts of light scattering with deadly consequences. Their spells did battle independently as their blades were a blur; the very atmosphere liquefying around them.

"You can't win this, Anson!"

Locke raised his bow. His eyes locked on the Guild Member; waiting, tracking, learning-

"The Gods are with me!"

-predicting.

Anson was losing. Of the two Magitek Knights, he was more injured, more exerted, more desperate. His technique was awkward and he was being steadily overwhelmed by both steel and spell. It was clear that he was untrained with a blade and the only thing that actually kept him alive was his magic. Locke knew he had to get involved before Anson fell behind in the battle of spells.

But the two men were too close to each other for Locke to fire, and many obstacles were between him and the target anyhow. Locke remained patient as blow after blow sent Anson ever closer to the edge. Locke repositioned himself and waited for the perfect moment.

An errant blast of air shattered a stone pillar and with it, a section of the roof collapsed. Anson was caught between it and grey-robes. A chunk of stone slammed into his shoulder.

The Guild Member was already over-extended but thrust with his off-hand anyhow.

"Die," Locke whispered as he let go of the drawstring.

Against all odds, a single, fragile wooden arrow shot through the layers of magic and waves of energy. The Guild Member, though totally off-balance, still twisted aside at the last second, cutlass in one hand and dagger in the other. He teetered forward on one foot, his moustached face staring at Locke in disbelief and horror.

Anson's blade severed his head.

Before the corpse hit the steel girders, two poisoned crossbolts plunged into neck and chest. The dead Guild Member crumpled onto the metal supports and then toppled below.

Locke reloaded his crossbows as he strode across the narrow beams. The fall was not far, perhaps three stories, but still dangerous.

"First Citizen," Locke said, ignoring the numbing sensations throughout his body. His eyes, however, connected with Terra beside the throne.

Anson's chest heaved. He was covered with ash, sweat and blood. He slammed his dual-bladed polearm into the ground and carefully leaned on it, knuckles a ghostly white from the vicious death-grip. "Locke Cole?" he asked with a pained gasp.

With great effort, Locke tore his gaze from Terra. "Yes. Are you alright?" it was worrisome that the man would lean on a double-bladed weapon for support.

"I've been better," Anson groaned. He took a deep breath, arm clutching his chest. "I need you to leave the Throne Room, get to the Marble Square and establish a protective cordon from there."

Locke frowned. "I would think it best-"

"Where are the rest of your men?" Anson interrupted. He cursed when Locke shook his head. "The Sophis is poisoned! I need a medic now! I will not risk moving her across this broken floor."

Locke's legs threatened to give way. "Poison?"

"Hunter's Dreams, a mixture of scutellaria and some sort of antispasmodic; they'll know what it is. Just find me a medic!"

Locke found himself running from the Throne Room without any further questions. He charged towards the Marble Square, his heart beating twice as hard.

Poison?

Damn the Guild!

Never had the Imperial Palace seemed so big; its corridors were endlessly long. He dipped his head and charged mindlessly. Suddenly, his eyes snapped up. Two arrows almost hit him as he skidded to a halt. The red, blood-soaked carpet was deceptively slippery, but his dive to the ground saved him. He felt something solid but invisible pass by his head as he hit his knees. Locke brought his arm up, pulling back his sleeve to ensure a clear shot.

"Hold fire! That's one of mine!"

A sight for sore-eyes, Colonel Norris Ferdinand stormed down the corridor with dozens of Imperial Guardsmen behind. Never had the image of the old Magitek Knight brought such an unrestrained smile to Locke's face, but Norris was bottled rage.

"If you're one of the traitors as well, I swear I'll personally scatter your limbs to the ends of the world!" Norris growled as he advanced menacingly.

"Not a chance Colonel!" Locke stumbled to his feet. "We need a medic! Terra's poisoned!"

The Imperial Guardsmen had formed three rows behind the old Magitek Knight and further back, Locke could see them defending the Marble Square. There were several out of formation along the walls and Locke suddenly realized he had ran all the way back to Sherwood. His friend lay collapsed against one wall; someone was tending to his injury.

"Hostiles?" Norris snapped; his priorities straight.

"None remaining, the First Citizen dealt with the last of the Guild in the Throne Room."

"Anthony!" Norris called for a medic now. He pointed at one of the Imperial Guardsmen. "You five, to the Throne Room!" He looked back at Locke. "What manner of poison?"

"Anson said something about Hunter's and skulleria-"

"Scutellaria. That's not lethal," Norris sighed with relief. "Alright. Locke, take two squads down the eastern wing. I'll command from the Marble Square, but I need someone I can trust to take care of these errant Magitek Knights. I want you to eradicate anyone that even blinks at you the wrong way. I don't care who they claim they are!"

Locke glanced back towards the throne room. His heart ached.

"And find me General Donner!" Norris growled. "If he's not already dead, I swear I'll personally make him answer for every single man we've lost today! The Imperial Palace of all places, dammit all to hell!"

"Colonel!" a familiar voice shouted. Anthony broke through the wall of Imperial Guardsmen.

"Anthony, Terra's been poisoned by scutellaria or something similar -- the First Citizen has the details.Take care of it. We'll need her expertise immediately," Norris ordered.

"Sir," Anthony gestured backwards. "That's not lethal and there's something else."

Locke blinked. Shivers travelled down his spine as he suddenly made the connection. "Anthony, Sherwood-!" he began.

Anthony's eyes snapped towards Locke. "That's the problem."

"He's poisoned, isn't he?" Locke reasoned.

Anthony nodded. "It's a deadly one and he's not alone. There are a number of other cases; nothing as benign as scutellaria. I need to be back-"

"Then get back there!" Norris barked.

"Sir!" Anthony hurried back through the crowd, leaving the Imperial Guardsmen standing escort shifting their feet awkwardly.

Norris turned back to Locke, a dark look on his face. "Locke, get to the east wing now! And if you can, try to keep one of the Guild alive. I want to know what this poison is."

Locke nodded grimly. "He might be hurt though," he warned.

"Just make sure he can still talk."

---

Terra's chest heaved in surprise as Anson strolled up the stairs to the Imperial Throne.

Not only had Locke saved her, but Anson as well!

She blinked away tears, surprised at how quickly her heart was pounding. She wiped her eyes with a bloody glove, willing her body to obey her. Her legs were still numb and standing was beyond her power, but slowly the poison was retreating.

Damn the Guild! So many had paid for her mistaken priorities.

Moments after the poison had destroyed her ability to speak, she had learned to breathe slowly but forcefully. It was the only way to avoid choking herself; hardly any air could get into her lungs. Now she calmed herself again, pushing aside the gallant image of Locke charging through the doors of the Throne Room with his bow out, and waited as patiently as she could.

Anson stepped past the body of an Imperial Guardsman, the other had been burnt to ash but this one fell early and behind the shield. In one hand was his bloody double-bladed dagger, the other was across his chest. He was breathing heavily.

"They are all dead, Sophis," he gasped.

Terra felt shivers run down her back. Something was wrong.

Anson blinked away the sweat collecting above his eyes. "Your friend will be back with a medic. The poison is nothing to fear," he coughed. "The traitor probably managed to sneak it into the palace because it's so common."

There was a strange aura about him. Something was desperately wrong.

Anson stumbled forward, almost pitching into her. She could not move aside, but he caught his balance at the last moment. His dagger clattered to the ground.

Droplets of blood trickled onto it.

_Anson!_

With both hands stretched out for balance, Terra could clearly see the vicious tear in Anson's leather armor. Something had caught him across the chest and blood poured from the deep wound.

Anson quickly covered his chest again. He stumbled around her and with trembling knees, fell onto the Throne.

Terra's eyes were wild. Her feet moved forward, dragging across the floor as she willed herself to his side. She had to heal him. She had to stop the bleeding. She had to stop him from dying!

Anson rolled onto his back, slouched upon the plush Imperial Throne. He looked up at her, brown eyes staring into the depths of her soul. "I'm sorry," he whispered, "Sophis. I couldn't stop them... from hurting you."

Tears fell down her face as she reached the side of the throne. Her hand clasped his and despite sheer willpower, no magic came to her aid. Energy swirled about her almost teasingly, just outside of her grasp, but she was unable to command it.

She could not heal him.

"Listen closely," Anson whispered as blood began to run down the arm on his chest. "The Guild carried poisoned daggers, ones they wouldn't use in battle because they were specially spelled. I-" he coughed, "-was swiped by the last. You can feel it, can't you?"

Terra closed her eyes. No, she couldn't. She couldn't feel anything.

"Magic..." Anson gasped. His hand fell to the side of the throne.

Terra's eyes snapped open. _No! Anson! Hold on! Locke was coming back and with him, Norris. He could heal you. Just hang on!_

He glanced back up and stared at her adoringly, reverent even in the end. "I believe in you," Anson's voice was no less than a whisper now. "You are the chosen, a messenger from the Gods. You will bring a peaceful world, free of all the ills..." His voice failed him.

Terra's hand gripped his even harder. _Anson, stay with me!_

"You will spread kindness, to save us all..."

_I don't know what to do!_

"-is just a stepping stone, a compromise. Danielle can't lead-" his head drooped to the side as he coughed up blood. "You will lead!" he commanded with redoubled strength.

_I don't even know where to start! I've made so many mistakes even with your guidance, how can I do it alone?_

"-never did I think I could lead a goddess down her path..." he chuckled at his own joke. His eyes lolled back, his head against the back of the Imperial Throne. Lifeblood ran down the ruling chair of the Empire. His chest heaved deeply; a strong, defiant breath.

"Follow your heart," Anson said. "You must lead us! Promise me that you will never give up for your vision of a beautiful world!" he gripped her hand now. "Please!"

_But I can't do it without you!!_

Unnumbered tears ran down her face even as she nodded breathlessly. Somehow, she knew that Imperial Guardsmen had arrived. But it was far, far too late. She gazed into his adoring eyes.

_I promise, Anson._

Hundreds of corpses laid around a ruined Imperial Throne Room, the palace itself wounded from the vicious attack. A drained, exhausted half-Esper gingerly clutched his hand. Tears flowed freely, falling to the ground and mixing with lifeblood.

With his broken body draped across the Imperial Throne, First Citizen Anson Tilton passed away.


	20. Outbreak

**The Twentieth Chapter - Outbreak**

Edgar frowned. "Excuse me?"

The old soldier prodded his hat ever so slightly upward, revealing a pair of strained eyes. "I'm afraid that I just received orders that no one -- not even Your Highness -- may leave the premises," he answered.

"This is outrageous!" Edgar gestured towards the tall, iron gates of the Mansfield residence. "I refuse to be treated like a prisoner and demand an explanation."

A half-hearted shrug was the only response Edgar received. Long since dulled to the resentment of pompous nobility, the guard turned back to his view of the city, relaxing against walls of solid stone and returning to his statue-like role.

Edgar stormed back to the Duke's estate. First the Empress had kept them waiting for days even after they arrived in Mansfield, then their meeting had been cancelled until further notice. Now, his access to the city was being revoked. It was infuriating! Their excuses were benign and while Banon had counselled against action -- it would make them seem rather petty -- Edgar swore there was some manner of maliciousness involved.

Well-maintained cobblestone led to a great mansion -- worthy of a family who had founded one of the core cities of the Empire -- but Edgar had seen better in his lifetime and was thoroughly unimpressed. He passed the courtyard and its vast gardens, waited for a servant to open a pair of finely carved wooden doors, and entered the Duke's house. He waved at Banon and Strago, the pair were busying themselves with the Duke's selection of fine books.

Led by the sound of victorious cries and desperate panting, Edgar waltzed into a large, open chamber whose periphery was decorated with the weapons of the ages. Many were historical artifacts, an extensive collection of blades, polearms, shields and bows; Edgar had been hard-pressed to find even a single weapon of war that the Mansfields had not owned.

Aside from the latest advancements from Narshe, of course.

In the centre of the room, Cyan was sparring with one of Charles Mansfield's guards. Edgar recognized the stout soldier as the Captain, but even the leader of Mansfield's personal escort was unable to land a blow on the Knight of Doma. The two men were fencing -- a gentleman's sport -- and while steel tips were a blur between them and their footwork almost a sprint, Edgar noted with a sly smile that Cyan was not even sweating.

The Duke of Mansfield hovered over the edge of his seat with a childlike glimmer in his eyes. He shot to his feet and applauded fiercely when Cyan scored the third and final point of the match.

"Lord Mansfield," Edgar said as he joined in the applause.

"King Edgar!" Charles had a lop-sided, goofy grin on his face. "Sir Cyan is an incredible swordsman! Not since the days of my youth have I been so thoroughly impressed by any warrior. He has defeated every single one of my guards, and I would like to think that I employ only the finest."

Edgar chuckled politely. "And the rapier is not even his preferred blade."

"The knowledge of which only stokes my hunger!" Charles declared. "But I take it you are not here to watch your comrade trounce my personal escort?"

"That is most perceptive of your Lordship," Edgar acknowledged. A stinging rebuke was on the tip of his tongue just as Cyan neared.

"Sir Cyan! That was wonderful," Charles commended. "I must ask: would you do my humble servants a favour and teach them why exactly they were so easily defeated? It would bolster my confidence in these guards; their competence is rather suspect at the moment."

Cyan laughed equally politely; he was no stranger to nobles and their ilk. "As a personal favour to your Lordship, I would be delighted to assist."

Charles shook Cyan's hand. "I shall speak with the Captain, please excuse this interruption," he quickly scurried off.

"Seems he likes you," Edgar remarked.

"If either of us were worthy of such a statement, surely it is not I," Cyan remarked in a low, almost-snidely tone.

Edgar snorted. "Someone has to do it, and he's an interesting man."

"Nobles are manipulative individuals, it is hereditary. But I suppose it is hardly necessary to remind thee of vigilance."

"But you just did," Edgar winked.

Charles returned at that point. "Please," he gestured to the Captain standing dejectedly off to the side.

"With pleasure," Cyan said. "Your Lordship, King Edgar," he excused himself and stalked towards his latest student.

"I apologize for the interruption; I couldn't let such an opportunity slide. Please, you were saying?"

"No harm was done," Edgar waved aside the insignificant slight. "I was intending to investigate the commotion in the town square when I was turned away by your guards at the gate. Most peculiar behaviour, I'd say."

Charles immediately lost his good cheer. "So it is that. I had hoped you were objecting to feasting on duck again."

Edgar patted his stomach. "Your chefs are quite skilled, but I would deem such a squabble unworthy of either of our attentions."

Charles nodded. He gestured to one of his aides. "Two glasses," he commanded before turning his attention to serious matters. "I'm afraid, King Edgar, that you are not the only person unable to leave my humble estate. I am also a prisoner in my own house."

That was an unexpected revelation. Edgar kept the surprise off his face, thanking Charles' servant for the glass of red wine instead. "I must admit that was not the answer I expected, much less desired," he said before taking a sip.

Charles swirled the wine in his goblet. "Please, let us breathe some fresher air."

The two noblemen strolled through the vast corridors of the Mansfield household, up several flights of stairs and at last to a balcony overlooking the expanse that was the city of Mansfield. The house was mostly bare and empty; a lasting reminder of the Civil War. Anson Tilton, the Emperor at that time, had taken a page out of the darkest annals of history by proscribing his political foes. That their fortunes were plundered and their estates ransacked had been the least of the nobility's worries. Charles was the last of his family now, the rest were missing at best.

Edgar could only imagine the political chaos within the Empire at the moment. A new soldier-Empress, a government that composed of many that had recently opposed her, nobles still reeling from innumerable personal losses, in addition to all the instability caused by civil war. It was amazing that the Empire had even managed to reunite.

No amount of military force, not even the Empire's vast armies, could keep the peace amongst so many people. That the current Triskele Rebellion was the first of its kind suggested that Danielle had done well reuniting not just the military, but the people as well. In a conversation between himself and the Duke of Mansfield, Edgar recalled that Danielle had been quite forgiving after her coronation; her greatest political enemy, Anson Tilton, had been allowed to keep all his authority!

Edgar could see the brilliance behind such action, but only as long as Anson was truly loyal. That was unlikely, and the King of Figaro planned to widen whatever rift was already between those two.

Charles took a deep breath of the fresh, spring breeze. The Mansfield house sat atop a hill, and they were at the tallest point of that building, so their view was nothing less than spectacular. Edgar's eyes narrowed when he saw the masses of people gathered around the town square. They seemed to form a carpet that spread throughout the city, hundreds of thousands in the streets upon their knees. They were chanting something that Edgar could not make out; instead it was constant low rumble.

"Even here, in the city that my forefathers built," Charles said grimly as he watched the scene.

Edgar frowned. "What's going on? Why are so many people gathered on the streets like this? Don't they work?"

"That they do," Charles agreed. "But today is special and while I disapprove, I find myself powerless to prevent it."

"What exactly is this? It can't be commonplace."

"Indeed," Charles gestured towards the centre of his city. "Do you see that: the white figure towering over the rest?"

Edgar narrowed his eyes. "A statue?"

"Yes, do you remember seeing it during the tour of my city?"

He swirled the wine in his goblet from side to side. At last, he remembered. "I do believe it was a bust of the First Citizen, Anson Tilton."

"Your memory is impeccable," Charles acknowledged. "This-" he made a wide sweeping gesture, "-is a vigil for him."

"Excuse me?"

"First Citizen Anson Tilton is dead," Charles stated blankly. "He was murdered in the recent, vicious attack on the Imperial Palace by the Maverick's barbarians."

Edgar's eyes went wide. "What?"

"Indeed," Charles shook his head. "They snuck into the palace past those defending the capital like the cowardly dogs they are."

"Barbarians," Edgar agreed, shaking away the irony.

"These are dark times. I admit that despite our past disagreements, I have grudgingly grown to respect the man over these last few months. Mister Tilton was an intelligent, skillful administrator of whom the Empire will sorely miss. Without him and his gaggle of scholars, I doubt that the Empire could have regained even a tenth of her glory after the Empress took the throne. His loss has diminished us all."

Edgar rubbed his eyes in frustration. When he had first heard that Danielle allowed Anson to serve as her head administrator and de-facto civilian leader, it had been a miracle. It would not have been difficult to play the two off each other, achieving a permanent split between the military and the civilian leadership and perhaps weaken the Empire so that it could never go on the offensive again.

That had been a fantasy, but some of it might have been achievable. Not anymore though.

"This is terrible," Edgar whispered honestly.

Charles agreed, but not for the same reason. "If only I had pushed the late-Governor to continue his campaign beyond Actarian Bay, perhaps the Maverick might have been killed before the winter solstice. Instead he has struck twice at the heart of the Empire, that treacherous bastard!"

"How many have been lost?" Edgar asked. Terra and Locke were in Vector, were they not? He remembered Terrance had told him so.

"No one knows. But while detailed reports are still in writing, I doubt anyone else of prominence was murdered. Bad news has a way of travelling on its own."

Edgar shook his head in grim understanding. He hoped that Terra and Locke were safe, but did not wish to play his hand yet. "I suppose the additional security at the gates is for our own safety?" he turned back to the original subject. "Riots must be a great fear."

"It is an unintended benefit... King Edgar, I will be frank with you. I feel we are kindred spirits and though we are separated by a generation, our hopes and dreams are the same. I have worked tirelessly to protect my homeland from enemies, both foreign and domestic. I know you share a similar passion."

"We have a responsibility, Lord Mansfield," Edgar answered. "Many of noble birth believe in entitlement, that their upbringing binds their subjects to serve their will. Though that is true, it is hardly the entire truth. It is we who serve the people; men of power protecting those who cannot protect themselves."

"Well said!" Charles agreed. "Despite the fact that our homelands are not the same, our common nature cannot be denied. For that reason, I do believe you deserve to be notified of the coming storm," Charles turned to meet Edgar's gaze, the two noblemen judging each other's honesty and trustworthiness.

"And what is that?" Edgar asked, watching the gathering of thousands out of the corner of his eye.

"There are rumours -- dangerous rumours -- that something horrible is happening in Vector," Charles' voice dropped to a whisper. "They say the barbarian did not attack for the First Citizen but for a darker reason. My friends tell me that this-" he stressed the last word, "-is the reason why the Empress cannot be found, why her escort has disappeared and none know her location. The Empress is no coward. Yet she is giving orders from behind a curtain of deception."

Edgar's lips mashed against each other. "What is this danger?"

Charles looked around as if he expected anyone would be listening to them. None were, of course. "A plague," his voice was barely a whisper now. "A magical plague."

Shivers travelled down Edgar's spine. "Impossible," he whispered.

"My men are already preparing for our departure. You will come with us," Charles said. He gulped down the remainder of his wine. "We leave tonight."

"Lord Mansfield, are you sure?"

"No," Charles shook his head. "But I will not take the risk; I have seen what an outbreak of deadly malaise can do to a city; nine out every ten dead, corpses rotting upon the streets while those living are choked by the decay of the departed. I remember before the trains -- before quick transportation became commonplace -- and how quickly disease could travel. Now, with the advent of technology..." Charles fell silent.

Edgar had also dealt with such disaster before. A memory of the past returned, of a town stricken by a rotting disease in the remotest region of his Kingdom. He recalled the stench of death, a scene that rivalled even those of war. It had taken years before a cure could be developed, and even then it only worked if the disease had been caught in its earliest of stages.

That a plague could be magical...

"One does not live as long as I have and ignore the advice of his friends," Charles said at last. "Though I do not have solid proof, what I do know is that an incurable poison was used by the barbarian, striking down many in Vector. Those who did not die quick were sapped of life slowly and painfully. Now, scant days later, many are growing sick from disease without rhyme or reason. Not just the commoner, but those in high places. It is clear to me that this poison is spreading like a disease."

Charles' gestured to the west. "Vector is already contaminated and I fear a plague carrier will come here as well."

"An incurable poison that spreads?" Edgar couldn't believe it. He had encountered many wasting diseases in his life, and none had been incurable. "Even if it's not just a coincidence, surely Imperial Magi-Technology-"

"Not even the First Citizen has found a cure," Charles said meaningfully. "I will not risk it! We will leave tonight for the safety of the highlands. Do not worry, I will ensure that the Empress can contact you when the time is right. I give you my word on that."

Edgar nodded. "Very well-" he blinked. "Wait, First Citizen?" he echoed. "Anson Tilton is dead."

Charles glared at Edgar as if the answer was obvious. "Of course Mister Tilton is dead. But the Empress created his post because she did not have the time to keep control of the fractured armies and still lead the common man. That has not changed, and the Empress has wisely selected another First Citizen."

There was a palpable, growing sound of pride in his voice that Edgar caught. "Should I already know him?" he asked.

"Her," Charles corrected. "She is known by many titles, but you would know her as Lady Terra Branford."

Edgar's wine glass shattered on the stone balcony.

---

It was another riot.

Locke Cole averted his eyes, drew his hood over his head, and turned at the nearest corner. His feet quickened their pace upon dark-stone roads; what trail he left behind was washed away by the pouring rain.

A trio of Imperial guards stormed past him, giving him wide-berth as he was dressed like a fellow soldier. Their quarterstaffs were out, ready to take control of yet another mindless crowd, but their faces told the real story. Their heads were bowed and their eyes lacked spirit. They were on a futile quest, the instigators would escape easily but even if they were caught, every prison was already overflowing with their kind.

Their words were too seductive, their ideas too well-grounded in reality. If this riot was smothered, another would flare up within the hour.

His arm ached as he threw a flimsy wooden door aside, the secretary inside protesting his rude intrusion. One look at his uniform would have sent the girl scurrying back into her ledgers, but that was unnecessary. Her face went white when she recognized who he was.

Locke paid her as little attention as he had the lawless crowd. Stairs groaned from his angry footsteps, his bruised ribs pulsed in pain, and he paused in front of a familiar door.

He took a deep breath.

Inside was what was considered luxury for an injured man. His own private room with a window to the outside world, a soft bed and flowers upon a nightstand. Unread books lay in a pile beside the colourful arrangement of lilies, roses, and several more varieties that Locke didn't recognize. A fresh scent lingered in the room, covering the lifeless smell of cleaning agents.

Two weeks.

Norris sat in an old wooden wicker chair. His beard needed a trim, bags were beneath the eyes. The old Colonel looked like the sleep-deprived officer he was. Locke could probably count the number of hours the Magitek Knight had slept. After all, he was the one that kept Norris up.

Locke signalled the old man. Once, twice, at last Norris replied with a shake of the head.

No? No?! Why?

Terra sat on a stool beside the bed, dressed modestly to avoid attracting attention. Her grey hair was drawn back into a ponytail, a clean white coat borrowed from the doctors draped over the shoulders. She looked even more exerted than Norris. Had one been far enough away to overlook the old Magitek Knight's wrinkles, Terra might have seemed the eldest.

Not that she looked the worst. Sherwood lay upon two pillows, back raised so that he could speak freely with his guests. His gaunt, wrinkled face turned to the newcomer.

Two weeks. Most had barely lasted one.

"Locke," Sherwood's voice was strong, even if the rest of him was not.

Locke forced a smile. "I found some for you," he said as he pulled out the flowers wrapped protectively underneath his cloak. "The florist guaranteed me they're from Tzen."

Sherwood smiled. "They smell right."

"Good!" Locke said with fake cheer. He slipped the star-shaped yellow flowers into the vase and tossed the rest aside.

Terra stood. Her deep blue eyes made contact with Locke.

Locke's smile quivered.

She shook her head slowly.

That was why Norris said no. Locke sighed, his strength ebbing away as he did so.

Norris stood as well. His smile seemed genuine. "Sherwood. I'm afraid I can't keep you company any longer. You know how it is, the Empress wants this, the Empress wants that. Report on this, research some of that. They never give us anytime to lie down and sleep."

Sherwood nodded. "Of course, Colonel. Thank you for coming."

Norris chuckled. "Let me know if you need anything else, alright?"

"Yes sir."

As the Magitek Knight strode out of the room, Terra glanced from Locke to Sherwood apprehensively. "I should go as well," she excused herself. "Knowing how things are these days, there's probably already a crisis that's already getting out of hand."

Sherwood smiled. "Thank you, First Citizen, for everything."

"For you, Sherwood, it'll always be Terra."

"Of course, Terra."

The two magic-users left the pair alone. Locke found himself staring out the window, at the rain that fell relentlessly upon the urban sprawl of Vector. The sound of droplets softly tapping against the glass was the only sound in the hospital room; the rioters and their cries for vengeance were thankfully unheard.

Locke's breathing was forcefully slow, taking in the sweet scent of Tzen-grown flowers.

It was a comfortable silence. The two men relaxed in each other's presence, truly safe-guarded from the rest of the dark world for the first time in years. Locke pulled Norris' wicker chair to Sherwood's bedside and sat down, inclined to bask in the tranquil environment.

Time passed until the rain lightened up.

"Sherwood," Locke began. His forced smile was long since gone.

The Imperial archer's eyes had been half-open. With a flicker, they became alert once more. "Yeah?"

Locke's finger idly scratched the side of his knee. "I-" he frowned. "I want to apologize."

"Locke-"

"No, hear me out," Locke's fingers dug into the fabric of his pants. "A lot has passed since Gwendolen Ford. You lost a good friend there who gave his life doing what I should have been doing. You never held that against me. Even afterwards, you still helped me out. You taught me the tricks of the trade and not once did I ever even thank you."

Sherwood stayed silent.

"I owe you so much," Locke mumbled. "You made it possible for a naive, immature child like me to keep a promise that he could never have kept alone."

"You're being too hard on yourself," Sherwood said with his eyes closed. "You never needed me."

Locke glanced up at his friend. "Maybe. But you did help me keep a promise." Silence again when Locke expected a response. He took a deep breath and continued.

"I want to tell you about someone who meant a great deal to me."

Sherwood's eyes opened. "Locke, you don't have to."

"I want to. I need to tell someone."

Sherwood snorted. "We've known each other for a while now, worked close enough that I swear we almost think the same. Do you really think I don't already know? I mean, be honest here. You already know what happened to me."

Locke nodded slowly. "You grew up in Tzen. I can guess."

"First my family. Then later, my sister."

Locke swallowed back the bile in his throat. "That was different. That wasn't your fault."

"And you? Don't delude yourself. You're not that important."

Locke blinked away the wetness in his eyes. "Perhaps."

"Most certainly."

"We were going to marry."

"At least you had that going for you."

Locke smiled briefly. The two men grew silent once again, the only sound in the room were their breaths. Light rain rapped against the windows. At last, he found the courage to say it out loud.

"Her name was Rachel."

It seemed to catch Sherwood by surprise and for a moment, the two men saw clear through the other. Their souls were laid bare, unguarded for the first time in years.

"Amy," he answered with a pained expression.

"She forgives you," Locke remarked. "Everyone can find forgiveness."

"I know," his pale lips replied, but the downtrodden expression remained.

Locke understood. Because even knowing that, it didn't make things any easier. He sighed. "When you see her, tell Rachel I'm sorry."

Sherwood grinned back. "She knows."

"Yeah, but it's just good manners," Locke answered with a cocky grin.

They shared a laugh, the strain of the moment passing by as both finally accepted what was going to happen. Outside, the sun broke through the clouds and illuminated the wet, sparkling metropolis of the Imperial Capital. Light flooded into their room and the arrangement of flowers seemed to grow taller, their colours more vibrant and their scent ever sweeter.

Locke patted his friend on the shoulder. A light, contented smile rested on his face.

"I won't let what we've done go to waste."

Sherwood closed his eyes one last time.

"That's good."

And the two men were silent from then on.

---

Terra was waiting for him outside, leaning against the wall sombrely. She snapped upright when Locke exited, closing the door with a quiet click. "I wasn't listening," she excused herself nervously. But that awkwardness faded away when she saw the smile on his face.

"It doesn't really matter," Locke answered. "I'm not embarrassed. Now where's the Colonel?"

"He went to get some water," Terra licked her dry lips. "I don't think he's slept at all in the last four days," she explained. "He's been under a lot of stress."

Terra looked him up and down, amazed that he was so composed. The words she had practiced seemed inadequate for such a moment. "Locke, I'm sorry about Sherwood," she stated blankly. She knew better than anyone that there was no hope.

Locke's hands gingerly rested on her shoulders. "I know you tried your best," he replied. "I'm really thankful you tried as hard as you did."

"I know you and him were good friends, and I wish-" Terra gasped as he drew her in, embracing her delicately.

"It's alright Terra, you did everything you could." His breath was warm and soft against her ear. Her back tingled, but she didn't break away. It was so comforting, she thought as she closed her eyes and relaxed.

"I'm sorry about Anson as well. I couldn't save him in time."

Terra blinked repeatedly, fighting away tears as that memory resurfaced. It had been barely two weeks since the Imperial Palace had been attacked, not nearly enough time for her to bury his memory and accept such a loss. She could still feel his warm blood on her hands, still seen the crimson stains upon her clothes.

Her chest heaved painfully and she laid her head against his warm shoulder.

"I'm sorry," Locke chided himself. "I shouldn't have brought it up."

Terra gritted her teeth and willed the tears away. She pulled back and shook her head. "No, it's alright," she said as she wiped her eyes. "It's been half a month, I should be over it."

Locke's silence bothered her and she glanced up to meet his deep, brown eyes.

"It wasn't your fault," he consoled.

Wasn't it?

"There were a lot of mistakes and plenty of blame to pass around. No single person can be held responsible for that disaster," Terra stated politically.

Locke eyed her suspiciously. It made her uncomfortable, for some reason it felt like he knew she was lying. "Anyhow," she quickly continued. "General Donner has already paid for his error in judgment, as did every single traitor and the barbarians themselves. The only thing I regret is that they died before they could be tried in the courts and executed in front cheering crowds."

Terra leaned against the white walls, turning her back to Locke for a moment and hoping that he wouldn't think anything of it. She quickly composed herself once more, taking deep breaths and calming herself down.

When she turned back, Locke had taken a seat beside the door. Only a few days ago, an armed guard had been standing before Sherwood's room at all times. Now it was hardly necessary. "What's it like in the Palace?" he asked.

Terra sighed. "Chaos. Everyone's in a state of shock," she shook her head dejectedly. "I should have known. Every time we met them, every indication that I ignored; they kept improving their magic, advancing their stealth spells continuously, refining their technique until I could barely keep up. Yet I still didn't realize it."

"It's not your fault," Locke said as he stood up. "You couldn't have possibly guessed that they would be able to attack the Imperial Palace!"

"No, I couldn't," Terra admitted. "That aide of Donner's who switched the Imperial Guardsmen was just the tip of things; with each passing day new facts shed light on the mystery surrounding the attack."

She glared at him.

"But I don't need to tell you that."

Locke swallowed visibly; he was never very good at lying to her face and they both knew it. But fortunately, he was saved by the arrival of Norris.

"I just doubled-checked with the men, it seems like they have no idea what the instruments are," Norris rubbed his bloodshot eyes. "Locke, we're going now."

"Going where?" Terra snapped. She had known Locke was up to something, but had no idea that Norris had been the mastermind. The Colonel had been the highest-ranking officer in Vector after the Guild's attack. Forced to take command, he was so busy keeping control of the garrison that she didn't think he had the time to scheme behind her back.

"Downtown," Norris began. Locke made gestures that he probably thought were secretive, but they were apparent to Terra and Norris ignored him anyways. "We have a lead on what Corian did during the day and considering this one is a witness, it's possible he's also affiliated with the Guild. We need to take proper precautions."

Terra narrowed her eyes. "Who's Corian? And are you telling me the Guild is still in Vector?"

Norris glanced over at Locke who cleared his throat awkwardly. "This is an ongoing investigation of one of the Guild Members that masterminded the entire plan. This one man links together many of the traitors your people have uncovered, including the guard who stabbed you. I believe it may lead to some new revelations about the Shroud."

The Shroud, Terra felt her blood boil as she thought of suffocating aura. She levelled a deadly glare at Locke. "Do you remember a girl by the name of Anna?"

Locke looked insulted by her insinuation. "Of course I would remember her!" he answered indignantly as he pulled back the sleeves of his cloak. "Her blood ran down these arms!"

"Well," Terra pulled her own sleeves back and revealed the carefully hidden bandages beneath. "We have something new in common. So don't ever leave me out again! I want to know the moment either of you find out anything."

"Of course, Sophis," Norris quickly answered for both of them. "Locke, I expect you within the hour. Hopefully this isn't another waste of time," he grumbled as he left.

Locke saluted while Terra glared on.

"I would have told you eventually," he grumbled. "I just didn't think you needed to know-"

"That you were chasing Magitek Knights on your own?"

"Not everyone in the Guild is a Magitek Knight, or a warrior for that matter," Locke mumbled. "I can handle it."

Terra sighed. "Just make sure to tell Norris everything, I trust his judgment more than I would trust my own. It was his instincts that led to these quarantine procedures."

"Yeah, like they really help. Not a single new case and riots everywhere. Great job there."

Terra turned around and where she expected malice, she saw only disappointment. "We... we can't be sure whether the toxin is infectious yet. Norris' experience with diseases like this tells him that it could be another whole week before symptoms show."

Locke sighed. "I know, I just... I thought if we could bring those doctors from outside Vector..."

"It's been eating at Norris as well," Terra explained to Locke's surprise. "He's a fighter, it's all he's ever known and it's all he can do. Experience from decades in the army led him to declare quarantine, but that doesn't mean he doesn't care. He's not a healer, but he tried to help Sherwood with every bit of energy left in that old body of his."

"I know," Locke answered. "Just like I know you feel responsible for the Guild's attack."

Terra opened her mouth, but no words came out. She shuddered as she thought of that day. At how they had invaded the center of the Empire. At how she had been powerless to stop them!

Locke gently touched her chin and she realized that she had been glaring at the floor with deadly intent. "I know you'll stop whatever the Guild has planned," he said. He gently rubbed the dark circles underneath her eyes. "I believe in you. I always have."

Terra smiled despite the severity of the situation.

"I said some terrible things that day in the middle of winter," Locke began.

"Funny," Terra guided his hand away from her cheek. "I don't remember any of it."

Locke's eyes were downcast. "I never meant to leave for so long. At first it was just a single day, but then they needed people at the base of the Dalziel Mountains, and then-"

Terra squeezed his hand. "It's alright Locke, I already know."

"You know?"

"Anthony's Pass? Oakham? Callaghan?"

Locke blinked in surprise. "How did you...?"

Terra peered at him playfully. "I'm Lady Terra, you silly fool."

They shared a private chuckle before Locke suddenly realized how they looked together. He pulled his hand back embarrassingly, clearing his throat and gesturing towards the stairs. "I should head out. Norris will need my help," was his excuse as he slipped past her.

Terra folded her arms. "You don't always have to run," she remarked to his retreating form.

"I'm not," he answered immediately. "But the world is too dangerous for me to idle; these last weeks made that evident. I made you a promise, Terra, and I intend on keeping it."

"There are always dangerous things out there. The world is a dark place."

"Yeah."

"The coming weeks are going to be a tough struggle, I could use a close friend," Terra continued softly. "There will be a big meeting soon, between the Empress and all the high-ranking personnel throughout the Empire. I'll be there, of course, and I'd like it if you were there by my side."

"Well," Locke turned around slowly. "Who am I to refuse the First Citizen of the Empire?"

Terra scowled. "I didn't mean it like that."

"I know," Locke squeezed her hand. A light smile graced his visage. "I'd be delighted to stay, just for you."

---

It was raining when Edgar stepped out of the carriage. Mud splattered against his cape as his boots sank into the soggy ground. He glanced up at the grey skies, frowning at the unending storm. The wind blew open his cape and the rains were relentless, so thick that waves visiblyrippled across the ground.

A soldier snapped to attention when the newcomers arrived, face in awe as rainwater ran down the sides of his brown helmet. Strago had just stepped out of the carriage but not a single droplet hit the lore-master, instead they bent away mid-fall.

Escorted by three of his own blue-coated guards, Edgar quickly made his way up the stairs to an old castle. They were in the highlands near Sellenger, the majestic backdrop of the Dalziel Mountains hidden behind sheets of rain. Built in days long forgotten, the castle foundations had eroded over time and its walls overlooked a sheer precipice that dropped straight down into the forests below.

Imperial soldiers, brown leather weathering the storm far better than Edgar's wools and silks, stood guard all about the courtyard. Edgar could tell that the castle had been abandoned until just recently, likely chosen when news of the plague was revealed to the Empress. He returned the friendly smiles and waited.

Cyan and Arvis both dashed out of the rain and under the shelter of the castle. Banon had declined the invitation; he had fallen ill recently and that had been a fierce scare. However, it had just been a cold from their journey. Lord Mansfield had also declined. It was a military matter, he said, and his confidence in the Empress' abilities were justifiably strong.

That he would have no effect on the outcome was a disregarded point.

An escort of a dozen men awaited them in the entranceway of the castle. "King Edgar, you are expected," the captain of the squad announced. The gruff, battle-scarred but clean-shaven warrior wore gleaming chainmail without a helmet. He was not wet though, so Edgar instantly knew that this was a man detached from Danielle's personal guard.

They followed the Imperial soldiers through dark, neglected stone hallways and up several flights of stairs. The sound of the storm grew louder as they climbed and the reason became clear once they reached the top. An open balcony stretched its way around the periphery, the rain kept out by a sloping roof supported by stone pillars. There was a room in the centre, circular as well and guarded heavily by Imperial Knights. It was the only name Edgar could attach to such warriors, wearing plate armor and bearing shields and pikes. These were men that belonged on chocobos.

"Your guards will have to wait outside," the Captain of the Imperial soldiers pointed out.

Edgar nodded. "That's understandable."

Within the warm room was yet another circular table -- Edgar could only wonder if the symbolism has been intentional -- that was lit by strange looking lamps. Bathed in a warm yellow light, a number of grim-faced Imperial officers were silenced by the arrival of esteemed guests. None were wearing armor, so that was a good sign to start. Of course, there was steel enough just outside the door.

Many men and women sat at the center table, but most were seated along the stone walls. Amongst that crowd -- aides and staff most likely -- was a boy who looked quite out of place, surrounded by empty seats. He had neither the look of a servant nor the aura of authority that suggested he was in charge of anything.

Turning his attention to those in charge, Edgar counted a half-dozen officers with stars on their chests and a few with four bars instead. All were cleanly-shaven and wore freshly-ironed uniforms; this was not a rag-tag collection of commanders. Yet he did not recognize a single officer. No one remained from Gestahl's court.

With three stars upon both shoulders, Edgar found it rather telling that a woman outranked every single other officer. And sitting beside the current three-star general was a former one, her dark dress uniform only a departure from the rest due to its colour. She still wore the medals and rank bars of her former position, except there was an additional star upon her wide shoulder guards. Her long red-hair had been pulled back and she was watching Edgar intently.

"King Edgar," the Empress Danielle gestured at a seat that had been oddly empty beside her.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Edgar put on a restrained smile. He took his seat next to the Empress, eyes noting that Terrance Cassidy and more importantly, Farin Starson, were both absent.

Interesting. Then this was unlikely to be all of the Empire's high-ranking personnel.

"Empress," Edgar turned to Danielle and nodded respectfully. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched his friends settle along the outside, near the exit and facing the Empress. Arvis sat down hesitantly between Cyan and Strago.

"Thank you for coming to this Counsel, King Edgar," Danielle said. "I'm afraid that we're about to begin."

"Of course. That is understandable considering the severity of the situation."

Silence settled in, uncomfortable for Edgar though he certainly did not show it. His eyes drifted around the room as he judged the men of the Empire. All were battle-hardened with an aura of experience and authority, he had no doubt that the Civil War would have pruned away the undesirables. He compared it to Douglas' impressions of the Figarian Navy and frowned.

Suddenly, his eyes snapped to the centre of the table. For some reason, he felt something happening there. Yet he saw nothing on top of the bare, but finely lacquered, mahogany. Edgar's eyes drifted as he wondered why his attention had been drawn there.

Then a column of blue light erupted skyward. It shot all the way up to the ceiling, a pale azure glow that was just strong enough to be seen. The older, moustached man sitting across from Edgar looked distorted -- the light was subtly wavering.

Strago gasped.

Edgar's eyes grew wide as an image faded into existence, the figure of a woman that had been shrunk down. Despite the difference in size though, her eyes were somehow level with his as she stood upon the mahogany table with an inscrutable expression. She seemed to be made out of solid light, a spectrum of blue colours that resolved itself into one incredibly familiar face.

"Terra," Edgar muttered audibly.

Everyone's attention -- all save the Empress herself -- snapped to the King of Figaro, rebuking him for the breach in protocol. Terra's eyes flickered to him as well, clearly surprised by his presence before she composed herself again.

"Empress Danielle," she greeted respectfully.

"First Citizen Branford," Danielle's words were crisply spoken. "It appears the spell is successful. Congratulations."

"Thank you, Empress," Terra answered.

---

Norris and Locke exchanged brief looks as Terra stood between a trio of floating blue orbs. Sapphire shapes swirled over the surface of each sphere and released shimmering waves of energy, creating an illuminated plane of light at Terra's waist.

"I'm surprised it worked," Locke whispered. "That book looked like it was falling apart. Where did you find it again?"

Norris sighed. "The spell won't pick up our words unless we stand within the triangle created by those communication foci," he said loudly. "As for the book, I picked it out of the rubble back in winter. It was buried underneath a heap of ash in the library."

"So how do we-"

Norris closed his eyes and Locke's eyes began to drift. It felt like they were surrounded in a sea of haze.

"Cast it now," the old Magitek Knight commanded.

He must have been speaking to Terra, because Locke certainly did nothing. Yet the haze faded away and suddenly, they were surrounded military officers of all ages.

"Edgar!" Locke exclaimed in surprise. He spun around, picking out those that he recognized. Karen Alysworth was there as well, sitting next to Danielle. In the back, Locke noted that the boy from Anson's entourage was there, as were- "Arvis?" he echoed. That Cyan and Strago were with Edgar was not surprising, but his old friend from Narshe?

Norris raised an eyebrow. "My, what a collection of attitudes," he muttered. "For once I'm glad to be stuck in Vector."

"You know many of these officers?" Locke said, still wondering how it was that Arvis had made his way to the Imperial Counsel in Sellenger. Why were they there? And how? After all, they looked like invited guests.

"I do know them, yes," Norris strolled over to a particularly angry looking General sitting along the periphery. His hand swiped the image, passing through magic effortlessly. "Brigadier Falkland, 17th Division. Egotistical hardass," Norris growled. "He got a couple of the best ISF squads killed during the Doma War by sending them on hopeless rescue missions for downed pilots, apparently it never dawned on him that he might lose to the so-called uncivilized."

The Colonel pointed at another young man with a scar running across the top of his forehead. This one sat at the centre table. "Newly promoted-Brigadier Kinsley, 10th Division. Stubborn fool with little foresight, loyal enough to kill himself without question if so ordered."

Locke's eyes narrowed. He had known Norris long enough to tell that the Colonel was hiding something else. He might have sounded angry, but that was nothing more than a thin veil.

"Thank you, Empress," Terra raised her voice. She might have been ignoring them, but that didn't mean they weren't disturbing her.

"Believe me Locke," Norris said in a hushed tone. "You wouldn't want to even share a cup of tea with any of these officers." He took his seat, back facing the two men he just picked out.

"For someone who's been in the military as long as you have, I'd expect you to have some friends in high places," Locke noted.

"All the good people are dead," Norris whispered with haunted eyes. The wrinkles on his face were more pronounced than ever.

"What about Karen?"

Norris did not reply, instead concentrating on Terra's speech. A sigh left Locke's lips and with a lingering look of concern, he decided to let the matter drop. At least Terra was finally sharing the classified developments on the Plague.

"As everyone has feared," Terra began, "we have confirmed that this is indeed a Magical Plague. Anyone who still held out hoping that this was not the case should cast aside all doubts: the Maverick has unleashed a disease to threaten the entire world."

There was murmuring amongst the Imperials; they had all suspected, but confirmation that they were under attack by a magical disease was something wholly different.

"First Citizen," Danielle's voice silenced her subjects. "The recent sicknesses in Mansfield and Sellenger, can you confirm they are all of the same source?"

"We can," Terra answered. "The outbreak in Vector was not an isolated incident, though we have reason to believe that the source was the same in all cases. However, with the trains running again, transmission of the disease has spread at a rate that cannot be exaggerated enough. My scientists are still trying to sift through what information we have, but we cannot stop all the unwitting plague carriers until it's too late."

Swearing was accompanied by cries of horror, the Imperials were torn between anger and fear.

"Then the quarantine on Vector has failed," Danielle stated blankly.

"No," Terra refuted off-hand. There were some older generals who were surprised at such an answer, directly contradicting what the Empress said, and were aghast at the brazen attitude of the First Citizen.

"Please explain," Karen interjected on their behalf. "You must understand that the quarantine on Vector is a huge source of debate. We are actively turning away our own citizens, bringing arms to bear against those trying to leave. The riots are growing out of hand and Vector does not have the garrison to quell them. Home Division cannot be called upon as they remain plague-free, and thus we have been forced to deploy Armors. An incident is inevitable."

"I understand the concerns of the military but you must understand that while the people are afraid, we must continue to do our utmost to contain the infected areas," Terra answered. "We must assume the worst case as long as we don't fully understand the disease and in particular, its method of infection. It is whimsical in nature as all plagues are, but worsened evermore by the magic that created it. That the people-"

"You're saying this was created?" Danielle snapped angrily.

"That is the only conclusion we can draw," Terra responded. "The source has been confirmed to be a poisonous glaze, likely harmless unless it enters the bloodstream. The assault on the Imperial Palace was the main vector of infection in the Capital. We are certain that once in the blood, the disease manifests itself and begins to spread without fail."

"You are saying that the Maverick's attack on the Imperial Palace was done explicitly to poison our people, so that our efforts to save them will begin the spread of the plague?" Karen's mouth remained open in shock.

"Yes."

"Monstrous!"

The scream of one irate, infuriated warrior pierced through the air and through the communication spell. All eyes turned to the man shaking with rage, his eyes blazing with fire and his chair knocked down by an explosion of unrestrained fury.

"Cyan!" Arvis was pulling on the sleeve of the Doma Knight.

"Despicable savage beasts!" Cyan screamed again. He was wrath incarnate, directed at none and actually shared by many of the Imperial officers present. His outburst would not be the last.

"Sir Cyan is correct," one of the generals at the table pointed out. "He is only saying what we are all thinking."

"Holding back in hopes of reconciliation was doomed from the start," another eloquently said. "These men might have once hailed from Vector, but they are truly Domus Proditor and should be treated as such."

Nods around the room as Arvis did his best to calm the knight beside him. The murmur of agreement continued until another of the many unnamed generals spoke up. "Once in the blood, how does it spread?" he asked.

Terra's calm attitude faltered for a moment. "We don't know. It could be restricted to touch, but it is more than likely airborne."

Locke subconsciously pulled his hands close.

"However, either case can be prevented so long as quarantine remains. None from a city known to be plague-stricken should travel anywhere else. The army must enforce this!" Terra growled. "That Colonel Ferdinand had the foresight to deploy the Imperial Guard and Home Division in this manner might have already saved thousands. If he had not done such a thing immediately following the attack on the capital, it would be impossible to ever contain the outbreak. At least now, we have a chance."

"What of efforts to detect the plague, or to cure it?" Karen asked.

Terra visibly swallowed. "Until symptoms show, we cannot detect the Plague. As for cures... they have all failed without a solution in sight. Magic and science are equally powerless."

Karen closed her eyes and rubbed her temples in frustration. She swore under her breath.

"First Citizen," Danielle's expression was devoid of sympathy. "Hundreds are becoming symptomatic in Vector everyday and that number will reach thousands within another two weeks. Cases are showing up throughout the Core, and if this pattern continues, all of the Empire will be infected. I have had enough," her hand slammed against the table.

"I want answers!" the Empress screamed.

Terra straightened, unflustered by Danielle's outburst. "Fire eliminates the disease, we have confirmed this. In addition, we are certain that the plague has an incubation period anywhere between four to fourteen days; though it's quite possible it could be hidden even longer than that. After this, early signs of the plague will show: shortness of breath, drying skin, weakening of the body and spirit-"

Norris rested his forehead against his arm, shuddering as Terra continued listing the ailments. Locke had been with the Colonel to see many of the afflicted. There had been thousands whose every breath was one step closer to death; thousands whose hopes for a cure were an unachievable dream. This was the way the Maverick worked. This was what the Guild sought.

The agonizing deaths of millions.

"-lesions and then the draining of life-force," Terra finally took a breath. "Premature aging is the last stage before the body fails. The Plague has been fatal without exception."

Restrained silence.

"How long?" Karen whispered.

"After the initial signs... two weeks at most, but the average has been four days."

"By the Goddesses," Danielle whispered as horrified looks spread throughout her ranks.

Locke shot to his feet and turned to the window outside for fresh air. He stared at the grey skies over the urban sprawl of Vector, listening to the familiar chanting just beyond the walls of the Imperial Palace. He found himself unable to find fault with the rioters, their hatred for magic was understandable. They screamed for blood, cursed the soldiers and demanded to see their rulers.

His eyes drifted back to Terra. He knew how tired she really was, despite the confident, unflustered act. If the people knew how hard she was trying, how she strained the limits of her abilities with each passing day, perhaps they would understand that there were two sides to magic.

The Plague could infect them at anytime, Terra more so because she was researching it daily. She was risking her life trying to find a cure.

He had to protect her, Locke gritted his teeth. Even against the unseen enemy, he had to protect her.

---

Edgar was speechless. Now he understood why Danielle would have invited them to this meeting. She wanted them to know what was happening, and she wanted them to know first-hand so that they could not accuse her of deception.

His eyes flickered to the faint blue image of Terra standing behind the old man -- a Colonel Norris Ferdinand -- and he shook his head in awe. First Citizen of the Empire indeed, Edgar had no idea what Terra had gone through, but no longer did he doubt the Duke of Mansfield's words.

First Citizen Terra Branford was no figurehead.

Her attitude was commanding, her authority undisputed. The teenaged girl Edgar had met in Castle Figaro was long since gone, she seemed like someone else entirely.

What had happened?

And now the Empire, teetering on the edge of another Civil War according to the words of Charles Mansfield, stricken by a magical plague created as a weapon? A deadly blade that could not be stopped, killing indiscriminately without any cure.

Edgar didn't blame Cyan for his anger; his own hands were shaking in fear. What if plague carriers fled to the Northern Continent? Two weeks for incubation, another two before they died...

Douglas had to know, immediately.

"-infiltration throughout the ranks." Norris answered.

"That's unbelievable," the three-star female general named Karen Alysworth growled. Edgar thought well of the woman, she seemed quite capable and intelligent, even showing sympathy at times. A rarity in the Imperial Armed Forces and especially important since at the moment, she was second only to Danielle.

"Many of those men were loyal to Anson to a fault," Karen continued. There was were scowls and grimaces amongst the officers. Edgar hid his own feelings of glee at how little the General cared for politics. "That they would betray him and Vector itself is ridiculous. Frankly, I find all of your observations suspect at the moment, Colonel. Perhaps the stress of the situation is affecting your judgement."

"Your suspicions are understandable, General Alysworth," strangely enough, Norris seemed to be prepared for her agitated response and took it in stride. "However, the evidence is undeniable and all conclusions have been verified."

Edgar watched as Terra faded away; there must have been some sort of range for the communication spell.

"Verified?" Karen echoed. "By what means? Last I remember, magic cannot tell truth from lie."

Norris straightened visibly. "The details of our operations are classified. Suffice to say, we have undeniable facts, witnesses, and confessions from those involved."

"Classified?" Karen's frown twisted into a sneer. "From who?"

"That's enough, General Alysworth."

Edgar watched as Danielle attempted to take back control of the situation. Bickering within the military structure itself, he mentally scoffed at the notion. What an embarrassment.

"There must be some reason for these betrayals," a large, heavy-set Brigadier pointed out.

"Of course," Norris agreed. "The answer is a former Magitek Knight by the name of Corian."

"Corian? Who was he and how was his treachery hidden from us?"

"He was forgettable soldier before his betrayal. He was not particularly gifted upon the battlefield," Norris answered. "Records show that he was one of the many veterans to be retired after the winter and given a sizable plot of land just south of Ethelben."

"Are you telling us that he was not assigned to the Maverick?" Karen's voice was icy-cold.

"He had been a part of the 10th Division during the majority of the Civil War, stationed at Maley's Point."

Disgust, Edgar shared the feeling with the Imperials around him. This was a man whose country had given him all he wanted: provided for his future and rewarded him justly for his service. And in return...

"And what did he do?" Karen asked.

"He returned to Vector where he excelled in creating the necessary mental unbalances for the Shroud to take hold."

"The Shroud?" Karen echoed. The Colonel's punctuation was such that all gathered at the Imperial Counsel heard the titling of two simple words.

"It is a spell of sorts, an aura that has been encountered by my forces before," Norris answered the confused looks all around the table. His little figure turned around slowly, looking at each person in turn before returning his attention to Danielle. "The First Citizen and I have confirmed that the spell dominates one's mind."

"Mind control?" someone gasped in shock.

"Contemptible," Karen spat and she was not alone. The list of traitors that had allowed the enemy to enter the Imperial Palace and left it a death-trap had been extensive and shocking. But such surprise vanished in a flash as anger took its place. Clamour in the chamber rose and Edgar noticed that Danielle seemed unable to stop it.

Or unwilling?

"First a plague, now they're controlling our minds? Damn this accursed magic!" someone shouted over the noise.

"Death to these monsters! They're worse than the Espers!"

"Vector won't be safe as long as these traitors breathe!"

"The Maverick must be destroyed!"

Danielle's fist slammed onto the table. Once, twice, finally the crowd grew silent.

"Continue," she growled at Norris.

"As you wish, my Empress," the Colonel replied. "The Shroud generally cannot be detected, though the best of Magitek Knights can sense a lingering aura. However, when activated, even the weakest Knight can sense the void that exists. The Shroud dominates one's feelings and thoughts. We believe it intensifies the emotions that were prevalent when the spell was buried into the victim."

"Victim?" a bald-headed General echoed. "You mean traitor."

"No," Norris responded. "While the Shroud itself has a general effect on those near the aura -- weakening resolve and turning the mind in a more malleable mush -- those directly affected by it have typically been tortured into submission. We have overwhelming evidence that many of those responsible for our breaches in defence, including one of General Donner's top aides, were abducted and tormented into a shell of their former selves."

Stunned silence.

"A weaker mind is quickly broken, but even the strongest may not be able to resist the combination of the Shroud and whatever agony they're being put through. Fears and hatreds are amplified to the point that the mind is overwhelmed. This is the most direct effect. We are still trying to discover other consequences in addition to how the spell works. Suffice to say that this is not the easiest of tasks."

"What of this man, Corian?" Karen asked.

"He was killed in action during the raid for which he was responsible. There is no doubt that he was acting of his own accord."

"A single man," Karen whispered dreadfully. "Could he have been the only one capable of... mind control?"

Norris took a deep breath. "It is possible, but in my opinion, rather unlikely."

"What of the facts, Colonel?" Karen pressed the matter.

"We don't know."

"That is understandable, Colonel Ferdinand," Danielle interrupted. "Again I must thank you for your decisive judgement in Vector," she commended.

Edgar noted that the Colonel did not seem to take any pleasure in being personally congratulated by Danielle. Now that was interesting! His eyes flickered over to the red-haired Empress whose praise was of little significance to her subordinates.

"You are dismissed."

"Your Imperial Highness," Norris' head bowed respectfully.

Danielle was then impassive for a while. Edgar watched attentively as she tapped the table at a quicker and quicker pace. At last, she finished her mental deliberation and turned to one of the men in the periphery of the room. "Bring him in," she ordered.

A murmur that accompanied her words told Edgar that this was unexpected by those gathered, but Danielle had prepared this surprise far in advance. Baldric -- the sight of whom caused Edgar to feel slightly guilty -- stalked out of the room. He was gone for only a half-minute and when he returned, a plainly dressed man followed.

Two of the Generals shot to their feet, looks of utter hatred on their faces. Others were more shocked than angered. Edgar noticed that Norris, his little blue figure shimmering in the middle of the table, was shaking with rage.

"Enough," Danielle growled. She turned to the new arrival. The man was unshaven, perhaps a decade older than Edgar and a number of scars were all over his face. A patch of pale white skin could be seen running down the neck and likely continued along his chest; the parting gift of a fireball. Though his white tunic was certainly no uniform, Edgar could tell that this was a military man

"Citizen Kennard, you will tell everyone what you told me."

---

"Who is that?" Terra asked. She had been one of the few who had been prepared for the entirity of the Imperial Counsel. It had pained her to know such things, and even more to keep it secret. Yet it was preferable to being kept in the dark; beset by the horror of the unknown consuming everything dear.

But who was this Citizen Kennard?

Norris did not answer -- he was standing in the midst of the communication globes -- and Locke's brow was furrowed in confusion. "He looks familiar, I think I've seen a picture somewhere," he stood up and walked over to the image in question.

Terra watched as Locke mumbled to himself. She caught precious little, but she did hear something about 'the face of the enemy'. She frowned, wondering if she knew what the Maverick looked like. So long had she spent in Vector, guiding the Empire's restoration with Anson's help, that she had never taken time to learn about those who threatened them.

The dark shadows that still moved against the Empire.

But unlike her, Locke had been on the Western Front. Unlike her, he had worked alongside of Norris and faced hopeless odds almost daily. Unlike her, he had kept his focus on the barbarian.

Like Anson had told her to do a thousand times.

"Wade the Sha-!" Locke cleared his throat and cut himself off. "That is Colonel Wade Kennard," he turned back to Terra and saw the question on her face. "He was one of the commanders deployed to Maranda," Locke explained. "One of the Maverick's top men."

"We had him imprisoned all along?" Terra asked. She glared suspiciously at Danielle's likeness. "Impossible, I would have heard of him."

"Over two months ago, Norris told me that this... man was still at large and we were to keep an eye out for him," Locke explained. "He's one of the most ruthless-"

"Hush!" Norris stuck his head out for a moment and silenced the loquacious duo.

Wade weathered the threatening scowls of his former colleagues, clearly stripped of his rank but otherwise unharmed. He did not look like a prisoner, but he had been humbled. "I'm unsure of where to start, Empress," his voice was energetic and there was just the slightest hint of respect in his posture.

"The beginning would be best," Danielle's fingers tapped against the table. Though she was the least cross of the ranking Imperials, it was clear that animosity was not above her station. "Lead with the results of First Vector."

Wade cleared his throat. "The Siege of Vector was an unmitigated disaster for General Drummond's forces," he started.

Terra narrowed her eyes. "Did you hear that?"

"What?" Locke asked.

"-and after the alliance broke down, we found ourselves unable to adequately retreat. We had been over-extended and our logistical capabilities were strained even with Governor Ashford's full-."

"He still respects the Maverick," Terra whispered in a deadly voice.

"-ordered a full retreat. However, a thrust by Caleigh had crippled Drummond's regiment and most of high command. At that time, I was under orders to abandon any who could not keep the pace, and that's what I did. It wasn't until later that we discovered General Drummond had been left behind. But even then, Caleigh and much of the Home Guard were counterattacking without restraint. He bled our retreating forces around the clock; by the time we managed to rally and establish a defensive cordon, I found myself one of the only ranking officers still alive."

Restrained mumbling from the crowd and an especially confused look from Karen. Norris stepped away from the communication globes and shook his head, sad wrinkles creasing his cheeks.

"Norris..." Locke began reluctantly. Terra knew what was on everyone's minds. She summarized what she knew of the Empire's command hierarchy. Her math was right, but she didn't want to believe it either.

"That's a lot of corpses," Norris remarked in a monotone voice. There was just a hint of wetness beneath his eyes.

"General Drummond's return was nothing less than miraculous; Magitek Knights -- former ISF -- had saved his life from behind enemy lines and evaded Caleigh's pursuit. I never thought anything of it at the time -- I mean, those men were heroes! -- but everything changed that day."

"The empty ranks were filled soldiers without leadership qualities or experience for such positions. I watched impotently as Command was filled with those I did not respect. They dug into the Plains of Callaghan, building fortresses and sending regiments into the Core every so often. I was ordered away and tasked with the southern Strachan passes. I suspected then that something else was going on, that I was being sent into exile..."

Wade sighed. "You have to understand, I have friends back in Maranda. Governor Ashford was a good man, he administrated the area masterfully after we conquered that Kingdom. I mean, we had Marandan-born soldiers serving in Doma in just two years! Everyone who had served in the war had been offered swathes of land; then we rebuilt their cities, paved new roads, farmed new land and created industrial capacity to rival Albrook! The difference between us and Tzen..."

Wade trailed off awkwardly. That Danielle was a hero of the Tzen War had obviously just occurred to him.

"Continue," Danielle ordered. Her fingers impatiently tapped out each syllable.

Wade swallowed the lump in his throat. "Veterans were recalled to the front and conscription doubled. Rumours spread, first of strange events in Pierpoint, and then of horrific experiments. But I was always ordered to ignore them, guaranteed by Command that they were nothing more than rumours."

Terra noticed a glimmer of concern on Edgar's face. It was only there for a moment, but Terra had read him like a book.

"Then I visited Sutton," Wade shuddered. "I had a couple friends and former colleagues there, but they had changed. Their attitudes were different, their priorities warped. I didn't hear them talk about restoring the Empire, not like those of us still at the front. They were talking about how they would establish their own Kingdom. Bigots like Forsythe were agreeing with how General Drummond was supporting the Magitek Knights and their research!"

"That was the first time I heard of the Guild."

Terra's wrath simmered. Those deluded heretics, she cursed.

"I don't know when it started, but I guess those Magitek Knights banded together like brothers. All I remember was wanting to get the hell out of Sutton. It was giving me shivers the whole time. I couldn't think, I couldn't breathe; it was like the entire world had gone mad."

Norris was at the edge of his seat.

"The Guild approached me. They called themselves Peers; wanted me to go to Maranda," Wade shook his head. "I refused and told them I was needed at the front. I had never feared for my life before -- death doesn't scare me -- but after seeing what I had seen," he took a deep breath, visibly shaken, and composed himself.

"I ordered my forces deep into the mountains. We dug into Strachan and I told General Drummond that we would go dark -- no communication, no reinforcements -- and that breaking the silence would inevitably lead to our deaths. I was never given the go-ahead on the plan and that was disturbing enough on its own, so I wrote to Governor Ashford; again nothing. Abandoned by command, I gave the order. We stole off with enough supplies to survive months of siege and hid in the mountains. Three months of deliberation later, I defected along with every man of my division."

The former Imperial made eye-contact with Empress.

"I will not be a pawn of the Guild."

The moment of silence that followed was non-existent. The Imperial Counsel erupted in an uproar to rival the riots in Vector.

"Three months," Locke repeated. He rubbed his eyes, tired, and decided to open a window. Fresh air streamed in, a cool breeze that flowed over the city of Vector. The city was awash with conflict, isolated riots for the most part but there was the sound of organized chanting coming from Gates of the Imperial Palace. The Imperial Guard would have their hands full again.

"It looks like the Empress has had this knowledge for a while," Norris remarked. "Though alone, it's an unbelievable tale. I can see why she hid this man for as long as she did. The world has gone mad."

"I still don't think I believe all of it," Locke remarked. His eyes flickered outside, obviously infuriated by the chanting. "And I'd like to think I've seen the worst of the Maverick."

"If only," Norris grumbled beneath his breath. He turned to his right. "Sophis?"

The First Citizen of the Empire blocked out the noise of her people, those that were calling out for the deaths of those responsible for the Plague, and for the total elimination of the Magitek Corps. "It sounds like we know what the Shroud can do if exposed to it continuously," Terra remarked darkly.

A sad nod. "The world has gone mad."

---

Edgar watched the rain fall down the side of the mountain, disappearing into a valley of mist far below. Water cascaded over the edge of the castle roof and fell in sheets just an armslength away.

"-and our capable forces have deftly handled the surge of monsters from the Floating Continent's rise. There are still some that could cause worry to even cities, but they are few and no sightings have been reported ever since the army slaughtered one of the large flyers near the end of winter."

Edgar forced a smile on his face. Karen was an interesting woman, but she was clearly on her guard in his presence. He had hoped that her blunt speech during the Counsel had been indicative of a lack of political aptitude, but instead discovered her grave distaste for the game.

"These monsters have not reserved themselves to solely the Empire, my own people have reported sightings of dragons the length of battleships. However, we haven't seen these ancient beasts since the winter began," he responded.

Karen nodded in understanding. "They are powerful and seem to be nigh-impervious to all known weapons. Our elemental cannons could blast through mountains in less time than it took to penetrate their skin! My sympathies for your soldiers, I can't imagine your response if one of those abominations attacked."

Edgar was about to respond when an aide arrived with news for the General. After exchanging departing pleasantries with Karen, Edgar retreated back to his friends. A frown returned to his face when he saw Cyan and Strago, they had certainly not resolved the argument almost three weeks past and it seemed as if it was tearing them apart.

Arvis looked uncomfortable between the two, nowhere near the peacemaker that Banon had been. Edgar sighed loudly. Rarely did anyone notice Banon's feather-light touch, but his absence was always noteworthy. Without him, feelings of resentment were never addressed, animosity was left to grow rather than weeded out early.

Edgar couldn't even understand what had come between the two men. It should have been minor; Strago had spoken hastily but Cyan should have understood a grandfather's protective nature. Why the two continued to be at odds over such a slight was inconceivable to him.

"What are we still doing here, Edgar?" Strago growled impatiently. "Despite your impressive seating arrangements, it's not like we're doing anything here." He gestured towards the group of Imperials entering the meeting hall again. "Only the Goddesses know what the end result of this Imperial Counsel will be, but frankly I rather not brave another half-day of awkwardness to find out."

"It does seem like we're being neglected," Arvis offered in an attempt to mimic Banon's rhetoric. "I can see Strago's point; though-"

"Terra is working for the Empire," Cyan interrupted. He glared condescendingly at Strago. "It is a noble cause, she is trying to prevent this toxin from destroying the world. We should trust in her judgement and support her, even if it is from afar."

"Lunacy!" Strago snapped. "You heard her say it herself, Vector is under quarantine! Even if she wanted to leave, she can't."

"Locke was by her side, I saw his image for a fleeting moment," Cyan argued. "He would ferry her to safety if that was truly the case. No, she is using her magic to save lives and that is a virtuous endeavour!"

"Enough, both of you!" Edgar stepped between the two men and sighed. "This is not the time for pointless bickering. It doesn't matter whether or not they made the right decision, we can't rescue Terra or Locke from Vector. This Plague threatens everyone, not just the Empire. Were we to go there ourselves, we'd risk becoming infected."

The two men grew silent, avoiding eye-contact with one another as Arvis shifted his feet uncomfortably.

"Let's keep our minds on what we're here to do. Perhaps we're playing into Danielle's plans, but right now, all I see is a leader who is pandering to her subordinates. Gesthal never gathered his underlings together like this, but she has to. It's a sign of weakness," Edgar watched the faces of his friends and frowned. "Has this not occurred to any of you?"

Strago cleared his throat. "You are closer to her than anyone else."

His frown deepened. "What I discovered before is still true today. Danielle seeks allies," Edgar announced in a lowered voice. "Today was the final piece of the puzzle. I finally have a foolproof plan to guarantee peace."

Arvis looked at Edgar as if he had grown wings. "And what is that? Nothing has changed."

"Terra has the right idea; I was afraid that she was being manipulated, but it's clear that Danielle actually relies on our favourite half-Esper. Now that's exactly what we need to do here."

Edgar gestured towards the many dignitaries and ranking officials of the Empire. "We're going offer our help in their time of need. We'll get our treaty, but we'll do more than just sign a piece of paper declaring peace between our peoples. Instead, we offer our services and make it so that they have to rely on us, depend on us, and become friends with us! You don't go to war against a friend."

"We... help the Empire?" Arvis echoed dumbfounded.

"We help ourselves. Even if we don't think about the long-term benefits of having friends like the Duke of Mansfield or one of those many Imperial generals, think about this epidemic. What if it crosses the ocean? From what Terra has already discovered, we know this toxin could reach our homes. Imagine what this magical disease could do to our people," Edgar clutched his stomach as a wave of nausea hit him.

Cyan nodded slowly. "This is the work of a devil. Poison is an enemy that cannot be fought and make no mistake, it kills worse than any blade and does so indiscriminately. Worse, it can be delivered by a single man. If the Empire's bane finds itself in our homelands, its wake shall rival that of total war."

"That's right," Edgar agreed. "And remember, this is a magical plague. The Empire, with its Magitek and advanced sciences, can't develop a cure. If the biggest, most resourceful and highly-advanced nation in the world can't fight the plague, what hope do we have?"

Strago folded his arms. "You are not alone, Edgar."

"Thamasa is so small that it can't even be expressed as a fraction of the Empire," Edgar waved aside the lore-master's comment. "We need the Empire, my friends. And now, when they need help, we will be there whole-heartedly. We will offer our hand in friendship and in doing so, find a permanent peace."

---

"-nor will I tolerate a warlord as a neighbour!"

Danielle was angry, that was to be expected. She was making a speech to draw the emotions of those gathered; also expected given the circumstances surrounding her position of authority. However, what Edgar did not understand was why she was outlining a course of action to those at the Imperial Counsel. Without even a meal to settle the stomach, the Empress had gone from listening to making policy. Considering the size of the group, any statements made would be set in stone lest she look weak and indecisive.

It was a manoeuvre that Edgar was unfamiliar with. Whether it was wisdom or madness, he was hesitant to judge.

"The Maverick has sent Ambassadors to convey his sympathies at the vicious attack we have suffered. He has denied knowledge of the attack, evaded responsibility and has even offered his assistance! The nerve of this barbarian, to play the game of politics while slaughtering our citizens by the thousands!"

"Since the dawn of the Empire, we have had but one policy to deal with those who dared threaten us. We have but one response for those who venture upon our soil and injure our citizens. It does not matter whether the threat is a nation, an army, or a single individual; nor will we allow our enemies to hide behind a facade of diplomacy. This Guild-" Danielle spat the words, "-is responsible for the Plague and they are commanded by one person."

Danielle turned to Karen Alysworth, the most powerful officer in the room, and her voice quickly took on a serious, composed tone.

"General Alysworth, I want your strategy to destroy the Maverick."

All eyes were directed on the elder woman. "Empress," Karen began respectfully. "As you are well aware, we have contingency plans for nearly every imaginable scenario. Unfortunately, only one is valid in this case."

Edgar could understand that. The Imperial military was fighting an enemy whose weapon could be transported by a single person and once used, was an unstoppable force.

Karen's aides began to pass folders throughout the room, the brevity of which emphasized how hastily Danielle's top generals had worked to prepare for this phase of the meeting.

"The strategy will be one of resource denial. By minimizing exposure, prioritizing long range engagement through the use of our superior artillery, we will deny the enemy their primary vector of infection."

"Two armies will venture beyond the Plains of Callaghan. An improvement over the strategy employed in Marandan War three years past, we shall take and establish permanent footholds in Oakham and Pierpoint. After our base of operations is secure, we strike Sutton and Maranda in tandem. Dividing their army and severing communication lines at Kinneil, we will starve them out of their fortifications. The Navy will provide the necessary support from Breckenridge Sound, as well as shelling the enemy throughout the duration of the war and ensuring that they are blockaded on all sides."

Edgar glanced down at the bulleted list and blanched. The Imperials did not even pretend to avoid collateral damage! The tactics they were employing would -- without a doubt -- kill ten innocents for every enemy combatant. They were absolutely without mercy!

"We will need to double the current Naval resources available to the Fourth Army, but they will deploy immediately. I ask for no less than half of the Magitek Armor Corps and once we have mustered our forces, we will begin the process of establishing ourselves. No less than four major engagements are anticipated before besieging Sutton; another before Maranda. Five months until Sutton is taken, Maranda in another two."

"Of all the contingency plans, this one marks the greatest departure from our traditional strategies. But based on the experiences of the last two seasons as well as the technical superiority of our forces, estimated losses are restricted to about two divisions. Even the Plague will only double that count at most, our procedures for dealing with epidemics have been without fail for two centuries."

There were uneasy murmurs around the room and judging by the surprised looks on many, Edgar guessed that he was not alone in his belief that Karen was too optimistic. Considering the Empire was planning on conquering a self-sufficient state comprised of their former comrades, expecting such a low number of casualties in addition to a timeline of less than a year was audacious.

"Maranda will fly the Imperial Flag before the Winter Solstice," Karen concluded.

Edgar shook his head as he read the figures before him again. This was madness.

"General Alysworth," Danielle's voice filled the silence that followed. "That is unacceptable."

The benefit of having a military mind as a head of state, Edgar waited for the inevitable splash of common sense.

"Ex-Excuse me?" Karen was clearly stunned. "What is unacceptable, your Imperial Highness?" she quickly added.

Danielle drew out the stunned silence to ensure that none would miss her words.

"Eight months is far too long. I will not tolerate the barbarian's presence for any longer than is absolutely necessary," Danielle growled. "The strategy is sound, but the timeline will be advanced."

What? Edgar's mouth hung open for a moment before he snapped his jaws shut. Advanced?!

"Empress, with all due respect, we cannot expedite a strategy that revolves around besieging cities!"

"Then our goals will have to change," Danielle snapped. "Your strategy calls for the establishment of forward bases, it is clear to me that the months necessary to accomplish this is due to a lack of manpower and the need to minimize enemy contacts. These manoeuvres are planned to net mobile units while allowing us room to concentrate our forces if the barbarian attacks in numbers."

"That is true, but-"

"Then you will have more than two armies, General. You will have four times that number! As of this moment, you are being given access to the entirety of the Imperial Armed Forces. I want no less than thirty divisions out there and these bases established within the first month!"

The low, restrained murmurs had become gasps of incredulity. Hushed whispers expressed how preposterous the Empress' strategy was.

Edgar was left aghast. He knew where Danielle was coming from. He was also aware of how ruthless Karen's strategy wasalready. That Danielle was demanding more... even considering how despicable the enemy was...

"Empress, with all due respect, even had we the infrastructure of mustering and coordinating such forces already in place -- even if our logistics could support more than a quarter-million foot soldiers alone! -- the amount of time necessary to organize everyone would delay us by weeks!"

"I expect you to attack immediately and accommodate troops as they arrive. Are you telling me that given the full resources of our Armed Forces, that you are incapable of even that, General Alysworth?"

The icy rebuke quieted the chamber, reminding many that though Danielle acted like mere a commanding general, she was still the Empress.

"No," Karen answered with reddened cheeks.

"Good," Danielle flipped through her notes without lingering on the issue. "These sieges upon Sutton and Maranda will be hastened by committing every available unit: Magitek Armor or conventional artillery. General Alysworth, I don't care if we raze the cities to the ground. I want the Maverick's head on a pike in front of my Palace within two months. Do you understand me?"

Karen swallowed. "As you command, my Empress."

With those words, Danielle's personal aides passed around yet another folder. Marked as Operation Inquisition, this one was just as short but Edgar's brief perusal led him to believe that they were printed up far ahead. He skimmed every page, but was lost in the detailed analysis of reorganization that seemed to be part of every paragraph. What was Danielle intending?

"As you are all no doubt aware, public opinion on magic could be summed up as restrained hostility," Danielle began. "The First Citizen can undoubtedly give us a more accurate update on the situation in Vector."

Terra's blue-hued visage was unreadable. "I can hear their chanting outside the Palace. They want every Magitek Knight, friend or foe, killed and their heads placed on pikes."

It was not what Danielle wanted to hear, but Terra did not seem willing to go into further detail. After an awkward silence, the Empress continued.

"The Plague is the snowflake that started the avalanche; ever since the Esper attack upon Vector and the Long Night, we have struggled to follow the path that the late-Emperor laid down for us. We shall follow his lead no longer."

She took a breath. "I dissolve the Imperial Magitek Knight Corps. As of this moment, the Magitek Knight is extinct."

Edgar raised an eyebrow. What was Danielle intending?

"However, it is undeniable that the enemy has no qualms about using magic. I will not tolerate the existence of this Guild any longer than I wish the Maverick to remain breathing. The band of mages that are responsible for this... this Shroud, this Plague, I want them hunted down to the last man."

"I am creating a new body, independent of the Armed Forces and accountable only to myself. They will find and hunt these Guild Members using any means necessary. They will have absolute authority over the search and assassination of these fanatical mages. I want our enemies to be unable to relax without fearing reprisal, unable to sleep without fearing that it may become permanent."

"They venture within our borders freely for they are but individuals, concealing their true nature until the very last moment. They could be anywhere, acting as humble farmers or even respected veterans, all the while planning to infect entire cities with this demonic Plague. It is unacceptable! They believe they are above reprisal by hiding amongst us. I will not allow it! They will be ousted, hunted down, and slaughtered like the animals they are!"

"This is Operation Inquisition. We will find them wherever they are, be it within Vector or beyond the Plains of Callaghan. But let it be known that while these mages can run, but they cannot hide."

"Accountable to only your Imperial Highness," Karen paraphrased. "I would council against such a policy, as in the past the independence of such a body would only guarantee strife in the near future."

"Your objection is noted."

No one else spoke out though and Karen sighed in frustration. "Very well, who will command such a force? Who is in charge of destroying these fanatics?"

"Since the Inquisition will undoubtedly be exposed to the Plague, only soldiers already exposed will be considered. Of that group, there is but a single, distinguished senior mage."

Danielle turned to the blue-hued image in the centre of the table.

"Colonel Norris Ferdinand, you will establish and lead the Imperial Inquisition."

---

Terra's mouth dropped open.

"He didn't know," Locke breathed. Outside of the communication zone, he could safely state the obvious. "If he knew, he wouldn't-"

"I-I don't want the job," Norris stuttered. He looked through the field of magic, across half a continent, and into the eyes of the Empress. "I am honoured but I cannot accept it, your Imperial Highness."

"And that is why I am confident in selecting you," Danielle answered without a smile.

"Please, Empress, I-"

"General Alysworth will provide the resources necessary for you to get started, helping you find other mages who have already been exposed, as well as organizational and logistical difficulties you might face."

Norris glanced over at Karen, his face ghastly white.

Locke closed his eyes sympathetically. The responsibility of such a position... to find another Corian amongst the millions of Imperial Citizens and stop them from releasing more of the Plague, it was a horrific burden.

"You have done well so far, Colonel Ferdinand. By setting a quarantine before the disease was confirmed, you have isolated it and perhaps saved the Empire. Now you will take command of the Inquisition, your former friends and colleagues of the Magitek Knight Corps, and you will again save the Empire. You will do your duty and destroy the fanatics responsible for Fanshaw, and twice Vector."

Locke could hear Norris swallow, so parched was the elder man's throat.

"As you command, my Empress."

---

The Imperial Counsel was silent, still busy digesting all that the Empress had decreed. But she was not yet finished.

"Since the dawn of the Empire, we have faced many enemies and defeated them all. Our brave and courageous legions have kept monster and barbarian away from home, so that we may have peace and civilization. That the enemy has resorted to such treachery -- to release a Magical Plague in Vector -- is unforgivable!"

All about the round table, officers were nodding their heads in unison. Around the room, the crowd silently approved of all that Danielle said. Edgar could see the disgust on each of their faces as Danielle summarized the crimes that had been perpetrated against the Empire. Even Cyan had begun to nod along. Edgar didn't blame his friend for joining along. In fact, he might have been concerned if Cyan could not sympathize with the Imperials.

But what Danielle had proposed... Edgar understood. He knew what a hard decision it would be, to fight an enemy that used biological weapons. Still...

The Empress had risen now, her fiery hair and crimson face presiding over the Imperial Counsel like the vengeful spirit that bewitched them all. Her hands were clenched as she shook in anger.

"The warlord and his barbarians laugh at us! They seek to divide us, to sap our strength and weaken our spirit. They have used disease as their sword, delivered by a single, deceitful backstabbing traitor! We cannot co-exist with these treacherous mind-controlling fanatics!"

"It's the devil's magic!"

"There can be no peace!"

"We must utterly annihilate the cowards!"

With the crowd voicing their agreement, the Empress Danielle composed herself in the blink of an eye. The transition would have been jarring had the chamber been sombre, but instead it was awash with bloodthirst.

"In the face of this strategy, traditional measures cannot be judged as adequate. It is not sound military strategy to commit Imperial Forces into a disease-filled land; it is imperative that we adapt in order to assure our permanent security. Our defence is strong, but against the enemy we face, and the enemies that we will face, it is not enough."

"Even a single rogue agent could unleash another wasting plague. They could hide in the wilderness and strike at anytime. In order to combat such a despicable strategy, we need allies. Foreign nations desire such enemies even less than we and in this, we shall find common ground."

Edgar nodded. It was a good strategy. It was his.

"And so it is that we cannot allow any transgression to go unpunished. Be it the device of a single man, or the collective fanaticism of thousands, we will not balk when counter-attacking. We will find out what is dear to them and we will strike swiftly; aggressively and we will not accept surrender! Our legions will venture far and wide -- across the entire world -- to hunt down every rogue; his family, his friends, his city and his nation!"

"Our security shall be guaranteed by deterring any potential aggressor. We will respond with vigour. We will strike back with the full might of our armed forces; a policy of massive retaliation!"

Edgar's throat was suddenly dry.

"We are the Empire! We do not hold back! We will destroy our enemies without mercy!" Danielle spread her arms. "Glory to the Empire!"

And the chamber thundered in response:

**"GLORY TO THE EMPIRE!"**


	21. Quarantine

**The Twenty-First Chapter - Quarantine**

They held for a second, waves of energy washing over the pair of colossal doors. Swirls of scarlet and emerald light clashed in the center, gnawing upon the other and fusing into a sickly shade of yellow that slithered about in spirals. The door frame buckled, the walls shook and the very floor itself trembled.

Then the maelstrom subsided. Protective spells that had held up against innumerable Magitek Knights simply faded away without any ill effect.

A pair of leather-adorned guards exchanged concerned looks.

The doors imploded. A rising wall of thick smoke smashed into the onlookers. A second wall, sparser but deadlier, passed through the surprised crowd. Splinters imbedded themselves into a few unlucky souls, cutting clear through armor and into helpless flesh. They collapsed to the ground but were quickly pulled aside by their peers.

Screams of pain subsided along with the smoke and all that could be seen, framed in the doorway of the Emperor's residence, was the shape of feathered wings spread wide.

Terra Branford turned towards them, glowing red eyes cutting through the thin layer of settling dust.

"Come."

Her aides followed without hesitation, each pushing an empty cart. They stormed through the dusty chambers that had belonged to Gestahl, Terra in the lead.

The statues guarding each side of the main hall seemed to have warm, lingering auras, but there were no more protective barriers. Terra gestured before the personal library of the late Emperor.

"Go. Take everything."

Her aides divided the shelves up efficiently, quickly emptying the chamber of its many treasures. Terra felt more than a few of the tomes calling to her, several so strongly that she felt a physical pull.

"How did you know, my Sophis?"

Terra let out a deep breath, her skin returning to its normal colour as she felt herself diminish. "Locke told me," Terra answered as her head was cleared of all the cobwebs. Several of the tomes still pulled at her, but she resisted them with ease.

Catherine raised an eyebrow. "All who serviced these chambers are dead, and others were never allowed beyond those doors. Respectfully, how did your friend know?"

Terra glanced at the living reminder of Anson. The Loyalist did not look like she had recently fought off death, but until just a few days ago, she had been hospitalized for grievous injuries. Catherine had fallen only due to the number of wounds overwhelming her, but amazingly, none had been fatal. Still, she had lost a lot of blood. That she had lived had been a miracle, the doctors said.

"For the same reason you survived the Guild," Terra avoided the question of her Magitek Knight -- mage, she mentally corrected -- bodyguard.

"Strength of faith? Then God is with him."

Terra glared at the normally quiet mage, but Catherine was inscrutable.

"By the whimsical nature that is war," Terra growled inaudibly.

--- 

Locke glanced around the Imperial Library. The huge chamber was mostly empty, but near the side, a number of tables had been moved in. Dozens of scholars -- bookworms really -- were scanning through piles of divided books. Most were making notes, others conversing with each other about proper translations or double meanings.

Neither soldier gave Locke any trouble as he passed by. Security in the palace had been doubled and the black-trimmed leather of the Imperial Guard was everywhere. Unlike the past -- when Gestahl was in charge -- these men were armed as if they were marching to war. Locke shook his head in amazement, wondering how they dealt with the weight of carrying so much. Even if they weren't moving often...

Terra glanced up as he approached. Her feet rested atop her personal table; everyone had given her wide berth and she had seized the opportunity to get comfortable.

"How is it?" she asked hopefully.

"Total lockdown; second-level quarantine procedures are finished and a further layer is being set into place. We're doing our best to make sure that the library and basement labs are carrier-free," Locke answered. He held up his hand, declining Terra's offer to sit down. "It's really bad out there, but at least none of the garrison have joined in the rioting yet. It's only a matter of time though."

Terra sighed. "And Home Division?"

"They've practically got Vector sieged, no one leaves without approval from the Empress or yourself. Unlike us, they're not undermanned. Chocobos, Armors, they've got it all. They've finished digging trenches and building battlements. I heard they're starting walls on the outside to prevent people from breaking in," he shook his head at the madness of it all. "Not sure why anyone would want to come here."

Terra nodded bleakly. "The Major of the Imperial Guard asked if we wanted another battalion. What do you think?"

"You'll need them," Locke expressed dreadfully. "Tell them to go around back, it's the shortest path to the palace and if they go at night, the riots should be at a lull."

Terra set aside the flimsy piece of paper she had been reading. Locke didn't mean to, but he read some of the writing nonetheless.

"Don't worry Locke, we're doing what we can to stop the Plague. I have practically all of Anson's general staff researching Gestahl's books. We should thank the dead Emperor, he had excellent taste and knew valuable tomes when he saw them."

"At least there's that," Locke answered, trying to keep quiet.

"I'm not going to allow all of Anson's work to go to waste. The Empire will not crumble, not on my watch! We need the security of their armies for peace, you and I both know this."

"Yeah," Locke's eyes flickered back to the letter against his will.

"If it wasn't for these stalwart soldiers, we wouldn't even be able to keep quarantine. The Plague would've spread far and wide, infecting and killing millions more. It's for the greater good that we have them keep the peace, even if they might catch it themselv-"

"Why are you reading a letter from Farin?" Locke interrupted, unable to keep quiet any longer. "I mean, at this time!"

Terra glared at him, then picked up the letter and flipped it over. "That wasn't very polite of you."

Locke ran a hand through his greasy hair in frustration. "Dammit Terra, you haven't been out there for days. You don't know what kind of hell it is! People are becoming symptomatic every hour now, and that means they're as good as dead! And it's not just the working men, women and children are coming down with it too!"

"I've told the people to stay at home as much as possible and avoid contact with others," Terra grumbled. "I knew this would happen."

"They're dying out there, Terra," Locke exasperated. "So why in the name of everything good are you reading crap from Farin about morale? Who cares about the Tzen armies? They're not infected!"

"Farin's a good man," Terra snapped.

"I'm not saying otherwise."

Terra waved Farin's letter at Locke. "He's had his hands full dealing with veterans, pardoning war criminals and settling them. Do you know how the Empire awards its retiring soldiers, Locke?"

"I honestly don't care," Locke answered.

"Right, because it's my problem, not yours," Terra put down the letter with care. "Despite being here, despite all that the Plague is doing, I am still First Citizen. There are many issues that require my attention and I won't let the Plague distract me from it. There's no point stopping one threat just to see this tenuous alliance dissolve and the Empire plunged into another Civil War."

"The greater good," Locke quoted.

Terra's eyes were downcast. "Yeah, the big picture."

"I don't know what came over me. I know you're working as hard as you can on a cure. Sorry."

"Don't be," Terra answered sympathetically. "You're right, I haven't been out there and if I tried, the Imperial Guard would probably try to restrain me by force. I guess I'm losing touch, locked away behind these walls. A cure is on my mind though, every waking moment that I can spare," she emphasized.

"I know you'll find it."

She sighed. "I wish I had as much faith as you do, but the fact is that most of my time is spent on politics."

Locke nodded. "I wonder how our friends are doing," he tried to stretch out the conversation.

"Until the labs get the prototype working, it's too much effort to maintain casual communication via magic," was Terra's excuse. "I'm sure they're doing fine and understand our situation. It's not as if we can go visit them; besides the work, there is the quarantine."

Locke nodded again. "Yeah. At first I was surprised they were helping the Empress, but it seems natural for Edgar to do something like that. He's not the type to pack his bags and run home to Figaro. As for Cyan, he's fought through much worse. At least we know they're alive, I mean, it's been so long and I wish we had the time to check up on them. But with the Civil War, and then your work with Anson and mine with Norris, there just wasn't anytime," he rambled.

"Alright," Terra narrowed her eyes. "What are you hiding now?"

"Hiding?" Locke put on the most innocent look he could.

"I'm not stupid," Terra growled. "What are you scheming?"

Locke sighed. She would find out eventually and then get angry again, so it was time to face her head-on. "I'm leaving Vector," he stated plainly.

Terra's mouth was open for a second, and then she shook her head and started giggling. "I think not," she declared after recovering.

"I don't see what's so funny," Locke mumbled beneath his breath.

"No one leaves Vector," Terra continued. "I don't care what you're trying to do, I won't risk it."

"I'm not a plague-carrier," Locke tapped at the phantom wound on his chest. "And don't ask me how I know, I just do."

"That's not why I'm worried," Terra snapped, seemingly annoyed. "I won't have you out there anymore than absolutely necessary. I understand that you want to work with the people, to understand their suffering and try to alleviate their pains. I respect that," she stressed, "and I'd do it myself if it was possible. But just like I can't devote all my attention to finding a cure, I won't stand aside idly while you put yourself in harm's way."

"I appreciate your concern," Locke started.

"Then you'll respect my decision," Terra interrupted. "I don't want to order the Guard to keep you here, but I will if I have to."

Locke straightened. "It's not your decision, it's mine. I told you: I made you a promise, and I'm going to keep it."

Terra folded her arms apprehensively. "What exactly did you do?" she realized there was more to this.

"I joined the Inquisition."

Terra was inscrutable.

"Norris spent most of his time getting together the people he feels are trustworthy, assigning them regions of the Empire to investigate. However, that's over and he's finally turned his attention towards the west."

Terra's scowl was gradually more and more pronounced.

Locke swallowed. "He's organizing strike teams to slip behind enemy lines and deal with the Guild before the rest of the army arrives. There are standing orders to destroy everything the Guild stands for: find their leadership, eliminate their body of members and most importantly, find the plague pits from which they developed this-"

"Dammit Locke!" Terra shot to her feet. "Do you want to die?"

Her outburst had attracted much attention, but a dark-leather wearing woman -- Locke was pretty sure he had met her before -- glared down most of the scholars. He turned back to Terra.

"Norris needs all the help he can get."

"Norris won't be risking infection during every waking moment!" Terra snapped.

"Actually, he will be," Locke defended, but Terra wasn't listening.

"You're barely capable of wielding magic," she continued in a rant. "Those are real mages; Magitek Knights trained for battle and you won't have me to fend them off! And then there's the plague, who knows what kind of diseased land is past Callaghan? I can't believe you'd be so reckless to run off and go get yourself killed. Why would you do something so stupid? You won't even get behind enemy lines; every scout has reported that all of Callaghan is a battleground in waiting!"

"We'll sneak around, probably arrive by sea."

"So the Strachan Mountains?"

"No," Locke snarled. "Never; we'll go around."

"And do you plan on going around mages capable of blasting you apart before you even see them?"

"I can handle a bunch of fanatics," Locke said confidently.

"And the Plague?" Terra snapped. "Even Sherwood couldn't handle that!"

Locke inhaled sharply. "Yeah," he grumbled. "Well, I guess I'll be reason enough for you to work harder on a cure."

Terra's arms fell to her sides. "You're serious about this," she reasoned with a more composed tone.

Locke nodded.

"Is it because of him?"

Locke gazed into Terra's eyes. He didn't know how to answer her question.

Terra sat back down. "Fine," she sighed reluctantly. "Since you've relegated yourself to this insane quest, I'll just have to sleep less... maybe once a week."

Locke felt a smile break loose. "Try once every two days, I guarantee it'll be better; less hallucinations," he winked.

Terra laughed, and it was a hearty sound that Locke committed to memory. "I'll look into that," she said as she waved at the dark-leather armored woman. "But until that comes to be, I'm going to need more help."

"Why's that?"

"Anson cobbled together a great team, but no one had a better mind to breach theory and application than he did. There's many here who are great with theory and they tell me I'm a bastion of intuition," she said with a roll of the eyes. "Which basically means I'm a worthless addition to their research team."

"So why don't you just tell one of your Magitek Knight bodyguards to deal with the applied theory?" Locke asked. He had finally remembered where he met the short-hair blond woman before. She seemed different this time; thinner than he remembered.

Terra lowered her voice. "Catherine is a warrior -- and I don't mean she's stupid -- but she has an even worse feeling for theory than I do. Most of the mages are the same way," she stressed the word mage, reminding Locke that the Magitek Knight had been abolished by the Empress.

"So what you need is a magical scholar."

"Engineer," Terra corrected as Catherine finally arrived. "Considering the Sack of Vector, as well as all the casualties from the Civil War, I wouldn't hold out much hope for that," she stood up and issued a quick set of orders to the deadly warrior.

Locke quickly decided that it was time to leave, while Terra was still in a relatively good mood. "Well, I'm off," he turned away on his heel.

"Locke."

He turned back without hesitation.

Terra wet her lips. She looked slightly uncomfortable.

"Yeah?" he asked.

"You said you made me a promise," she began. Her fingers tapped against the table nervously. "Well, it's my turn: I promise you that everything you've done, everything you plan on doing... none of it will go to waste. I swear to you that I'll create something beautiful, a lasting peace throughout the entire world."

Locke smiled. "A beautiful world huh? That sounds great."

"Promise me you'll be careful," she grabbed his arm before he turned away again. "Don't take any unnecessary chances."

He glanced down and gently placed his free hand on top of hers.

"It's a deal."

--- 

He watched carefully as the liquid fell from the spout, glistening in the reflected sunlight with just a few tiny bubbles swirling about.

"I take it he's talking about serving justice again?"

Edgar rolled his eyes. He quickly sniffed the liquor in his glass and grinned. A perfect amber shade and so strong that smelling it gave him a kick. He took long sip and found solace in the sensation that travelled down his throat and warmed his belly.

"I suppose it's a prerequisite for bartenders to be telepathic?" the King of Figaro replied at last.

"Me? I'm no bartender, just a tavern owner down on his luck and forced to serve patrons himself."

Edgar raised an eyebrow. He glanced around the establishment and noted the fine and recently-bought furnishings. Though they were not up to his high standards, one could hardly fault the businessman for that. After all, they were in the middle of a desert, far away from the trappings of civilization. Yet ale and liquor were available from all regions of the Empire, the food was delicious and the waitress was a delight to rest one's eyes upon.

"I think you're being a bit too modest; you've been moving up in the world. Why, I can tell that no more than half a year ago, you probably would've hustled out your current clientele in fear that a fight would erupt and your reputation ruined."

The tavern owner chuckled. "I see you are quite used to drinking the Empire's finest."

"And you equally experienced with keeping the peace."

A broad smile appeared on the aging owner's face. "On the house," he declared as he poured more of the amber liquor into Edgar's glass. "It's been a while since I've had such a perceptive patron."

Edgar leaned across the bar. "I take it that the Empire has been cycling its soldiers through here?"

"I don't worry about law and order anymore, if you get my meaning."

Edgar had thought as much. "Well I'm not of the Empire."

"That's no surprise. You might not have the thick accent that your friends have, but that doesn't mean you don't have one."

"I have an accent?" Edgar was surprised. When he was younger, he had worked hard to remove the nuances of his speech. It helped set people at ease.

"A slight one, I wouldn't have caught it but a long time ago, I had a guest who spoke the same way you did. Now that I think about it, he kind of looked like you."

"Really," Edgar raised his glass. "Then to coincidences, Bill."

Bill poured himself a drink; just enough to be polite. "To the security of the Empire, keeping us alive so we can drink in peace."

Edgar downed the rest of his glass. The tavern owner was a good man, he decided, and a natural diplomat. It was obvious Bill was unused to so many Imperials. Considering Halstead's location, far away from the Core and without a port, that wasn't much of a surprise. The King decided that this was a good opportunity to find out more about Danielle's recent actions.

"I guess you're glad that the new Empress is here, right? Law and order-"

"-and a stream of excellent men such as yourself, Mister Edgar," Bill was still unaware of Edgar's stature, having only been told to house important guests of the Empire. "I can't complain, business is good and the town is flourishing."

"You don't have to be so diplomatic around me," Edgar leaned closer. "So many soldiers must really throw a wrench into your other affairs."

Bill looked shocked. "I don't know what rumours you've heard, but my establishment has always been clean of such scum. Dust or women, pleasure is not my business."

"I didn't mean to suggest otherwise," Edgar quickly said. "I just meant dealing with soldiers all the time, it must be very taxing. Not much time to relax after-hours," he recovered smoothly.

"You don't know the half of it! You and your friends aren't demanding, but I've dealt with men from all corners of the Empire. Every single soldier has his own favourite drink and they get pretty angry if I don't have it. Finding the right folks to keep me in business, now that was a real struggle. You don't know how hard it is to find people trustworthy and dependable."

Edgar scoffed at the irony.

"Took me a couple months, but the winter was key. A bunch of folks that weren't with the army came to my door because it's always nice and dry here. That's when I found him: a chocobo driver who pulled me through the hard times. His name's Mark and I owe him big."

"Sounds like smooth-running now."

"There are a few bumps here and there, but nothing compared to the storm after the Long Night. I'd tell you a couple of the stories from back then, but I'm sworn to secrecy!"

"I'm sure you could pass them down as legends," Edgar lied. He hopped off his barstool and dropped a few coins on the counter. He had heard enough from a man on the fringes of the Empire.

"Please, Mister Edgar, the Empress is covering your stay," Bill palmed the coins and held them out to Edgar.

"A tip then, for the enjoyable break."

--- 

Cyan was riled up. He had been in a fiery mood ever since the Imperial Counsel and even Edgar felt his patience beginning to wane. The King of Figaro had hoped Cyan had calmed down while he had been out to town, but it looked like the Knight of Doma had drawn on an infinite font of outrage.

"Did you know that Leo Christophe once apologized to my person?" Cyan was saying again. "There was an honourable man; he felt guilt over an atrocity regardless of the circumstances. It is the same in this case."

Arvis sipped at his cup of tea -- Bill had only one kind of leaf on hand -- and glanced up with hope as Edgar walked in. "Any news?"

Edgar shook his head before sitting down. They were gathered above Bill's tavern, a common-area for guests but at the moment, they were the only patrons in the entire building. Danielle had known that the establishment was below Edgar's standards and tried to make up for it by ensuring their total privacy.

He would have preferred to stay on the battlefield like Danielle, but that was not an option. Despite her grand speech and so-called policy of dealing with other nations, she wasn't all too keen upon his presence. Edgar knew there were many possible reasons for that. Her position was akin to a balancing act: she needed the assistance of Figaro and the northern nations, yet she could not give any impression of weakness.

There were more than a few officers in her command both bloodthirsty and desiring advancement.

"The Empress Danielle shall parley with us tomorrow. As for Banon, it should be another day before he is back with the fleet," Edgar answered Arvis' question. He wiped his brow and was amazed at the wetness -- strange, he hadn't thought it was hot enough to cause him to sweat. "I wouldn't worry," Edgar mumbled as he wiped his hands. "The men with him are reliable and Tzen is still safe from the Plague."

"And it shall remain that way," Cyan said. "I heard from many that the Empress has tasked Farin Starson with keeping Tzen free of the vile Plague. I need not remind you of his past deeds; he is amongst the few I would judge to have a strong moral compass and the integrity to follow it."

Edgar nodded. "I heard the same, though mostly gathered from hearsay because I don't have a legion of Imperial soldiers fawning over me," he said jokingly.

"Perhaps you should go back to the house of Lord Mansfield, you and he shared quite the connection."

"I still think he'd fawn over you," Edgar laughed. "I just can't compete with the great Cyan Garamonde."

Arvis and Cyan both broke into laughter, but the Knight of Doma's head was bowed and his laughter sounded forced.

"I shouldn't talk about the Duke like this," Edgar relented. "If it wasn't for him, we wouldn't be sitting here."

Cyan glanced out the window. The roads leading to Halstead were full of Imperial convoys carrying supplies to the front. A large force was camped out here as well, for the desert town was the keystone of the Imperial supply train. "I am truly grateful for his assistance, but I wish we were closer to the front," he mused as he watched Imperial soldiers build fortifications at the edge of town.

"Is that really safe?" Arvis pointed out. "The enemy commands the Plague, as crazy as that sounds. One swipe of a blade and the infection would spread throughout the army. Everyone might catch it all at once and like a wildfire, it would destroy us before any response is organized."

"All the more reason to be at the front, to look these devils in the eye and show them the meaning of justice."

"I'm more concerned that the Maverick might start infecting his own people and send them into battle," Edgar sighed. He had written detailed instructions to Douglas and hoped Banon would deliver them soon. The last thing his people needed while recovering from the coup was an epidemic of a magical nature. "There's been no word from Terra; nothing more has been discovered about the Plague. How it infects people is still nothing more than a guess."

"I am sure that she is doing her best," Cyan tore his eyes away from the Imperial convoys upon the road. "Terra understands what a vile and despicable beast the Maverick and his fanatics are. They are evil, and though she is young and inexperienced, she is doing what is proper. I wish everyone was as principled and selfless."

Edgar's eyes flickered to Strago, who had been silent all day. The old lore-master was seated on the other side of the room, staring out the window without a sound.

"We do what we can," Edgar wanted to change the topic quickly. "I'm just glad that Danielle is so forgiving. She never struck me as the type to simply drop matters, but I guess that's changed now that she's the Empress."

"We're lucky she hasn't pressed the matter of her ships," Arvis agreed, happy to help Edgar steer the conversation away from a topic they had touched too often in recent times. "I suppose it's only a matter of time though."

"I intend on offering a division," Edgar explained. "It won't make up for what she's lost, but by lending a portion of our fleet to her in good faith, I think it'll be a gesture she won't refuse. Considering the pace of this war, I'm sure she could use additional seafaring vessels in the push westwards..." the King's voice faltered with that last word.

"Sabin will take care of himself," Cyan was full of confidence. "He always has."

"Yeah..." Edgar tried to compose himself, as he could do nothing for his brother regardless. He wiped at his brow again. "I just hope the Imperial Armies don't charge too recklessly towards Pierpoint. The timeline that the Empress has set is barely feasible. It's just not possible to coordinate armies of such size."

"Well I'm impressed with her decision," Arvis leaned back into his chair. "I think it's good that she's going after the Maverick with such vigour. It puts her people at risk, but sends a clear message. This warlord attacked her capital without provocation, even though the Empire was waiting for a peaceful solution with their former colleagues. Such an act is reprehensible and should be punished!"

"It reminds me of Kefka," Cyan snarled that cursed name. "The more we learn of the Maverick, the more I am certain that his kind must be brought to justice."

"Agreed," Arvis closed his eyes in recollection. "We can't allow another madman wielding magic to threaten us, not after we've worked so hard."

"Such a shame we have no allies who could counter such magic."

"Cyan!" Edgar snapped. "That was crass of you."

But Strago continued to stare lifelessly out the window despite the insult. His silence infuriated Cyan.

"I play not politics nor will I dance around the truth. The cowardice of his people-"

"Cyan!" Edgar was on his feet in a heartbeat and his hands came down upon the table between them. "Enough already!"

The Knight of Doma folded his arms, silenced but unapologetic. Edgar could not believe how long the two men had feuded over a minor slight; he didn't even remember the original circumstances! But this would continue no longer. "I've had enough of the daily bickering, it's driving us all up the walls. I don't know what's come between you two, but these snide comments will stop."

"Please Edgar, it's quite alright. You don't have to defend me," Strago said at last. "Cyan is quite right, my people are cowards and I have no defence for them."

"Strago..."

"It's fine, Arvis. Like Cyan says, this is not the time to dance around the truth," the lore-master sighed. "His only guilt lies in his tactlessness and I doubt old men such as we shall ever change."

Edgar stepped over to Strago and put a hand on his shoulder. "We don't care if Thamasa doesn't willingly join this war, it doesn't matter to us," he said in a comforting tone. "If we force your people to help, to make them go against their will, then we would be just as immoral as our enemies."

Strago's smile was thin and devoid of joy. The old man stood up and brushed Edgar's hand off his blue coat. "What's immoral is to idle while a magical plague kills thousands of innocents. Haven't you seen the reports? Dozens dying with every day that passes! Hundreds more becoming symptomatic and that's just in Vector. The same is happening throughout the Empire and we all know that anyone who shows the slightest sign of the Plague is as good as dead. Cyan's right, we have to do something."

"The Empire is-"

"Failing to find a cure," Strago interrupted Edgar. "Terra oversees that project," his smile, as fake as it was, faded away. "A girl scarcely beyond her teenage years with barely any academic training is in charge of finding a cure, of performing a miracle. If that's not desperation, then I fear to discover what is."

"We can't do anything about it," Edgar pointed out.

"No, you can't do anything about."

With those words, Edgar experienced a sinking feeling to rival his concern for Sabin's well-being. "Strago..."

"Yes Edgar, I have already done something stupid. It's the right thing to do; the moral choice. Without the Empire and her Magitek Knights, her scores of scholars and vast continental resources, the Plague might be forever unstoppable." Strago shook his head. "The greatest atrocities since the War of the Magi have not been man-made, but the results of an epidemics similar to this. I cannot, in good conscience, hide behind the Empire's screen of soldiers while children die of wasting disease."

"Strago-"

"I have already spoken to the Empress. I leave for Vector tonight."

Arvis shot to his feet. "Strago, that's a little hasty!"

"No! This should have been done the very moment I heard of the Plague, but I was afraid," Strago frown twisted into a scowl. "No more! I am no coward. I will do what's right."

"There has to be another way," Edgar mumbled in shock. "Books elsewhere that you can delve into."

"We could convince Terra to move her research somewhere safer. It would be best for everyone involved to stay far away from Vector," Arvis added.

"Yes, move to Tzen where ships from my fleet could ferry the Figarian Libraries to you. The knowledge of my ancestors would be at your fingertips, Strago."

"Those are unacceptable solutions. There is a reason why Terra stays in Vector," the lore-master explained with a sigh, "and that is because research can only go so far. Experimentation is necessary and for that, we must be at the source."

"You'll purposely bring yourself in contact with the Plague," Arvis deduced dumbfoundedly.

"You're not young anymore Strago, the adventures of your past are nothing compared to this," Edgar exasperated. "If you go to Vector, your chances are terrible."

"I know and I'm sorry, my friends, but this old man has made his choice."

Edgar turned to Cyan for further assistance, but the stubborn Knight could not even bare to look at them. Edgar spun back around, growing ever more desperate. "What about Relm?" Edgar demanded as he wiped his brow again. He had to convince Strago out of this mad plan! "What do you want me to tell her when you come down with the Plague?"

Strago glanced down at his feet. He closed his eyes and bunched together his fists.

Evidently, Edgar hit a nerve. This was his chance. "What am I supposed to say when the Plague takes you from us?" he pressed forcefully. "What do you want me to tell her when this mad plan of yours takes the only family she has left!?"

"Tell her..."

"Tell her what, Strago? What do I tell your grieving granddaughter?"

"Tell her that her grandfather always did what was right."

A tear fell onto the floor.

"Strago!" Edgar shouted as his friend fled their room. He ran into the hallway, but Strago had already charged down the flight of stairs. He gave pursuit, but as he threw open the door and the heat of the desert hit him squarely, he knew it was far too late. "Dammit!" Edgar swore, slamming the door in frustration. He stormed back.

Arvis held his head in his hands while Cyan stared blankly at the wet spot upon the carpet. They were all stunned silent.

Vector would soon be the city of walking dead. It was a disaster that was waiting for the right moment and now Strago was going there willingly.

"Dammit," Edgar whispered as he collapsed into his seat.

--- 

It was bound to happen.

The sun was setting, its rays of light blindingly brilliant in the eyes of those who tried to look west. Though alone, that should not have been an issue, this was the proverbial snowflake that started the avalanche.

He was an older Sergeant nearing the end of his service. What youthful ideals that came with joining the army -- duty and honour from serving the Empire, the glory of battle and of course, the spoils of war -- had long since disappeared. The Civil War had sapped the strength of many soldiers, especially those who had sought peaceful tours by garrisoning within the Imperial Core.

All he wanted to do was leave the service. A few more months and that would become reality. He had survived the Esper attack, the Long Night, and fought in numerous battles over the course of the Civil War. He had donned the emblem of the New Order, but only because of the beliefs of those he served. He was a decorated, loyal soldier that had found himself in the Imperial Guard, so the last thing he had ever expected was this:

The Plague.

He had friends in Vector. A lot of friends. Family too, many had moved back from the northern settlements at his behest. Vector's recovery had been full of possibilities. Anyone could become rich if they just had the will!

And now they were likely dead.

They had a good commander, an officer who was willing to bond with the men. The Lieutenant had explained to them what they were bottling up Vector; explained to them why they had to keep their own people from leaving Imperial Center. Perhaps their commander had left some details unspoken, but this Sergeant had already heard enough.

He had invited his family to die.

Yet still, for the sake of the rest of the Empire, he did his duty. For the millions more that were not infected, and in the forlorn hope that his family might still survive, he manned one of the easternmost blockades.

It had been weeks since the initial quarantine, weeks since the unforgivable attack on the Palace, weeks of turning away the people he had taken an oath to serve and protect. They could not get close to the infected and thus arrows were always levelled at innocents. Fences, barricades and strong walls were erected between them and the victims.

Words were rarely enough. Even the threat of arrows failed twice, but one thing had always worked.

The trembling earth as Magitek Armors took position.

Imperial Guardsmen were typically proud of their standing, of working closely with the wizards of their army: the Magitek Armor Corps. The courageous pilots that commanded the symbols of Imperial Might weren't the egotistical brats that the Sergeant had heard many stories of. They were brothers-in-arms, patiently awaiting discharge while serving in a place that should have been peaceful. None desired the glory of victory nor the guaranteed profit that would accompany those marching beyond Callaghan. They cared not for the Maverick, let others deal with that villain! They had served long enough.

This was the easternmost blockade, upon a road that was known as the Principate. Level-headed men, veterans of many wars, with none of the youthful recklessness that might have marred the professional nature of the Imperial Army.

So what happened?

The sun was in their eyes as it sank behind Vector and the Dalziel Mountains. The noise beyond the barricades had risen only slightly, so no one, not even the attentive Sergeant noticed something very odd.

That the people gathered on the Principate had become organized.

Minutes passed and the people's complaints had risen a distinguishable level. Their shouts were ever louder and it was always the same: they weren't infected, let them leave, they didn't want to die. After weeks of ignoring their pleas, it was easy for the men barricading Principate Road to disregard the crowd's increasing frustration, anger, and desperation.

And then the ranking officer -- our veteran Sergeant -- was alerted by one of the men in his command.

With a hand shielding his eyes from the glare of the sun, he saw that the people had begun to climb over fences. Others were gathered, carrying something between them... something that was silver.

A steel beam.

Yet in the split-second between that and alerting his squad, he saw her.

His daughter.

Or... he thought he saw her. He shook his head in amazement, surprised at how easily he had been caught off-guard. But the few seconds it took for him to recover was all that was necessary for the first layer of barricades to come down.

The rioting crowd charged towards them. Spurred onwards by their success, they were too enraged to be dissuaded by words, too numerous to be stopped by arrows. They had whatever weapons they could scrounge up, knives, swords, some even had bow and arrows. Yet the vast majority carried tools from work, planks from half-completed buildings, rocks they had picked up from the ground, and a team of eight construction workers had decided to use a steel beam as a battering ram.

The situation had gotten very bad, very fast.

There were two more barricades, the last of which was sturdier than mere sandbags and chain-link fences, but that would not be enough. Those positioned at the blockade were too few to deal with a riot of this magnitude. Quick and decisive action was needed! The Sergeant spun about-

"I'm sorry sir."

He was one of the new arrivals to the growing Imperial Guard: tall and muscular, blond hair and somehow, a face clear of scars. He was a handsome man -- probably broke many hearts during his campaigns -- with a glorious future but at the moment, there was a hard look in the Private's eyes. It was at this critical juncture that for the first time, the Sergeant forgot a subordinate's name.

"What are you doing, soldier?" he demanded as he faced the tip of a bloody sword.

"I have family out there," the Private was perhaps half a decade younger than he. "I won't let them die."

There was no fear in the man's voice, despite knowing there was only one fate for those that dared point a blade at their superiors. But they were far past insubordination; the man was a traitor that had killed at least two of the men in his squad.

They glared at each other. Neither was willing to say anything, for both achieved their goals in the terse silence. The Sergeant awaited reinforcements; the Private wanted a hostage for bargaining, as well as waste what precious time remained before it was too late. The tension was interrupted by the sounds of those desperately trying to break through the second set of barricades: some screamed in pain as they were cut by barbed wire, others grunted as they threw their bodies into the chain-links.

"If any of them are carriers, you'll have signed the death warrants for thousands more," the Sergeant declared suddenly.

A condescending sneer. "That's the price I'm willing to pa-"

An arrow embedded into the side of his skull; there was so much force that it almost lifted the body off its feet.

"Sergeant Erik!"

It was the Lieutenant and trailing him, two squadrons. The Sergeant saluted the archer who had saved his life -- the very same spotter who alerted him to the rioters -- and wiped the fresh blood off his face. The black-trim of the Imperial Guard filed up shaky wooden stairs and onto the battlements, bows and arrows being drawn as they got into position. Behind them, two Magitek Armors shook the ground as they advanced.

Both ranking men had climbed to higher ground and saw the extent of the riot. Rocks and arrows flew towards them, none with any accuracy or strength, but the pace of the charging crowd might have put some barbarian tribes to shame. The rioters had actually made it past the second barricade and were charging towards the last.

"Warn them," the Lieutenant decided with a frown.

The Sergeant gestured at the two pilots. "A line in the sand!"

Elemental cannons spewed brilliant crimson beams that detonated just shy of the third set of barricades; a combination of trenches filled with deadly spikes as well as stout chain fences. Dirt erupted into the air -- the force of which knocked the nearest rioters to their feet -- and the two Armors powered down.

"Anyone past that line dies!" the Sergeant shouted.

Not a single person slowed down.

Over two dozen archers positioned at the roadblock had readied arrows. They had been given very explicit orders and did not even pause to think of the moral dilemma.

Arrows first took down five, then ten, and then two-dozen civilians; cold precision shots fired into the chests of the rioters. But they did nothing to stem the tide, for hundreds finally reached the deadly trench. Many tried to jump across and fell to their deaths, but most gathered around the single passage that the Imperial Guard had left. There, Principate Road ended before a wall as tall as an Armor and just as thick, but not even brick and mortar could last long against such a frenzied horde.

The team of eight wielding the battering ram had also crossed the distance, arrowheads with broken shafts sticking out of several. Cracks began to show in the last wall and if that fell, freedom was no less than a dash across ten seconds of open ground. Knowing this, they worked even more vigourously. Not a single man flinched when two were pierced by eagle-eyed archers of the Imperial Guard, instead nearby rioters took the places of the fallen without hesitation.

Twin towers flanked the wall and from that high vantage point, a barrage of arrows rained down upon the swarm. Archers fired relentlessly until slowly, more and more discovered their quivers were empty. They had spares, yes, but with unerring accuracy against an enemy that was basically unarmed, they had used up all their arrows at hand.

Soldiers of the Empire exchanged appalled looks. These were the people of Vector, not some barbarian horde or foreign invasion, but rather their own people. They had quarantined their own people with a beast so monstrous it drove them to hopelessness and suicide!

"Stop them!" the Lieutenant barked, ducking underneath a rock thrown past. His order snapped some sense back into the men, so shocked they were by the sheer desperation of their fellow citizens. Efforts were redoubled for their lives were on the line too.

Great cracks in the brick could be seen on their side now, and a small hole was getting ever wider. Several rioters had managed to scale the wall, but archers nailed them before they made it over.

Given the situation, the Sergeant knew exactly what was next. Cold sweat ran down his back. "Halt or you'll be slaughtered!" he hollered. It was a futile effort, made to delay the inevitable, but to his great surprise he got his response.

"We'll be dead if we stay!"

"I'm not infected! Help me!"

"The children! Please save the children at least!"

"I don't want to die!"

The last was the voice of a young girl, swept away by the crowd before the Sergeant could locate her.

"Erik, we need this situation under control," the Lieutenant growled. "Do it."

The Sergeant swallowed down the bile in his throat. To serve and protect indeed.

"Pilots! Fire at will."

And the whine of elemental cannonade was all they heard.

--- 

Edgar paused upon one of the streets of the Imperial Camp. He turned around and glared at Cyan.

"The last time we spoke with Danielle, you nearly ended up getting us killed," Edgar said. "We forgave you and then we supported you. We're friends, and that's what friends do."

He waited until the rumble of Magitek Armors passed.

"But this time, I want you to promise me no surprises; let me handle the conversation," Edgar demanded.

Cyan nodded. "As you wish."

Edgar sighed. Again with the attitude. "I don't suppose you're going to tell me what's going on between you two?" While Arvis wasn't with them, it was rather clear that Edgar was not referring to their friend from Narshe.

"There is nothing, Edgar."

"I wish," Edgar mumbled. "Considering how Strago left overnight, without another word to any of us, I find that rather hard to believe. His selflessness could be his undoing, and I hate to think that we had any part in forcing his hand."

"We cannot escape our responsibilities," Cyan stated solemnly.

Edgar's frown twisted. "Stop being so cryptic," he growled beneath his breath.

The two men continued down the streets that had been formed by many orderly rows of tents. The Imperial Camp was heavily guarded, but the usual storm of activity had ceased for the moment. Karen Alysworth had just departed. The Imperial armies were finally entering the Plains of Callaghan to destroy their enemies.

Danielle had remained behind, but Edgar knew her schedule was liable to change and no doubt she craved the battle ahead. Their pace picked up and soon, they stood before a ring of dangerous-looking guards. Baldric was amongst these elite men and he led them into the Empress' quarters.

She was surrounded by paperwork and reading from a half-opened brown folder. A look of disgust was on her face.

"Empress," Baldric's voice was deeper than one expected, even from a man as tall and broad as he.

Danielle glanced up. "Ah? Yes, thank you Baldric," she waved at the seats before her desk. "Please have a seat, both of you."

Edgar watched as Danielle's attention returned to her folder, eyes flickering back and forth as she read. He wondered if she was slighting them on purpose. The woman was crafty and intelligent, and he knew her to be quite ruthless when necessary.

She was the leader of the Empire; the conqueror of Tzen. A hero of two wars now, with growing experience in the political arena. If her mannerisms had been laden with double-meaning before, now that she was Empress, there was no doubt she would be on top of her game. He could not underestimate her.

A single misstep could be lethal.

Still, it was hard not to be peeved at their treatment. Edgar kept his tongue still until she finished, slamming the closed folder aside in contempt.

"I'm sorry, King Edgar," that inflection again, "news from Vector is never good but I have to be aware of it. Knowing what is happening to the capital, to the citizens of the Empire," she shook a clenched fist. "Knowing what they've forced our soldiers to do to the people we swore to defend, it keeps my focus on the enemy and their evil deeds."

Cyan nodded in agreement, but Edgar ignored him. "The Maverick's deeds have been unforgivable, no doubt." His eyes flickered to the folder, a single piece of paper had slid out halfway. He could only read one word.

Loyalists.

Danielle chuckled. "Did you see the fences facing west?"

Edgar shook his head, hiding his own disappointment at failing to gleam anything useful from whatever disgusted Danielle. "We came directly from Halstead," he answered.

"That's a shame. There's quite an assortment of heads out there."

Edgar narrowed his eyes. What was she getting at?

"You see, Governor Ashford -- or whatever he chooses to call himself now -- has been constantly sending ambassadors. They come bearing a white flag and so far, without symptoms of the Plague. Under this facade, they plead ignorance to what the Guild has done. They're offering their apologies!" she laughed.

Edgar laughed along, but he had not known this.

"It's incredible really, they've gone so far as to offer assistance in our persecution of the Guild. They come bearing documents signed by the Governor and the Maverick, treaties that they wish us to be a part of. They've been appealing to our common background, hoping that a 'peaceful arrangement could be instituted'." Danielle raised an eyebrow, "their words, not mine."

"Of course."

"Do you know what a treaty is, King Edgar?" For whatever reason, there was no inflection this time. "A treaty-" Danielle answered own her rhetorical question, "-is a piece of paper. To the aggressor, it is nothing more than a scrap that you would use to feed the winter hearth. Do you understand now why we've done this?"

"This?" Edgar shrugged. "I'm not sure what you're referring to."

"The heads, King Edgar," there was still no inflection. Instead, she seemed slightly surprised that he hadn't caught on. "They're his ambassadors."

"You've been killing ambassadors," Edgar echoed monotonously.

"Yes, and you see why, right?"

It took all of Edgar's experience in politics to keep any emotion from showing on his face. He had known that Danielle held little respect for the unspoken rules of diplomacy, but they were there for a reason. To kill ambassadors, especially men who had been pleading for peace...

"They offer no proof of allegiance, nor of their innocence," Cyan answered for Edgar, concerned by his long silence. "Like the treachery they used to set the Plague loose in Vector, they wish for you to ignore them so they may strike again under the cover of peace. They're despicable cowards."

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but I agree with you wholeheartedly, Sir Cyan."

Edgar's own words came back to haunt him. He said he wanted to help the Empire, but that had been before. He had been surer then, confident in Danielle's cause. But unlike Cyan, surprise had worn off and his emotions remained in check. He did not forget the past warnings from Marcus, Garrett and Lowell. Nor could he bury his own impressions of the career soldier.

Could he, in good conscience, help a warmonger? What if she was wrong? What if he was helping the enemy? Edgar bit his lip, he needed time to think.

But he could not look weak-willed. A woman like Danielle was one who appreciated decisiveness and abhorred equivocation. "Two divisions," Edgar began, ignoring the way his shirt clung to his back.

"What was that?"

"Two divisions," Edgar repeated. "Your navy is stretched to her limits and the additional firepower would help your ability to keep a tight cordon around the Maverick. I'm offering two divisions of our battle group in order to help you combat the pirates and foolhardy merchants that would try to run supplies through the siege."

He did not want to make the concession, but he knew exactly what Danielle was going for.

"That's quite unnecessary, King Edgar," this time there was the strange intonation. "We're confident of our abilities. Breckenridge Sound is already filled with our ships. Our current forces already double the number that the Maverick has, thanks in part to the Battle of Actarian Bay before the winter. Once the entire fleet gathers-"

"Our ships will help with the northern patrols, the ones launching from Lechmere's Bay. There is no love lost between us and the Maverick, and I will not have our people sit aside idly when they could be helping put down this barbarian. Two divisions will comb the coasts; we will play our part in bringing down the traitor General and his band of fanatical mages, and we will do so with spirit!" he lied convincingly with faked anger.

Danielle leaned back and her finger thumped against her desk repeatedly. Edgar could read her like a book; he knew she was thinking about his offer and that the decision was a close one. But he was unwilling to sweeten the deal or make any further concessions.

All he could think of was those ambassadors and Ashford's pleas of innocence.

"Very well Edgar, I graciously accept your offer of assistance," Danielle answered after the mental debate. "I will alert-"

Baldric and two others stormed into the tent, rudely interrupting them. "Empress," one of the unnamed soldiers said. His cloak was quite dirty and he seemed out of breath. "General Starson requests to speak with you."

"I thought he didn't trust those spells," Danielle waved them aside, clearly agitated by the interruption. "Tell him he will have to wait, I am busy."

The soldier shook his head. "No my Empress, not by magic. He is here."

"_What_," not a question, and only a thin curtain away from deadly rage.

"General Starson is here with his army." 

---

They did not see her anger as they were not even invited. Danielle had left in a hurry, leaving things unfinished between them. Edgar could only wonder about the Empress, her orders defied by even her closest supporter. He remembered Farin; the man did not strike him as the treacherous type. Certainly he was motivated and filled with spirit, the man was a warrior who had fought in the frontlines of a civil war. Men like that were not accustomed to idling, even if so ordered.

Edgar and Cyan were about to retire to Halstead. The King of Figaro had tired of waiting and decided that Danielle would not be back until late that the night. He had also tired of Cyan's analysis of Farin Starson. The situation between Danielle and her military was interesting, but as she had shown during the Imperial Counsel, she had them easily controlled if the situation was warranted.

Then a man that Edgar had met before -- Donnach, one of Farin's bodyguards and likely one of the finest men serving the General -- alerted them that Farin was requesting Cyan's presence. Equally surprising was Cyan's ready acceptance though in retrospect, Edgar should not have been surprised given his friend's recent attitude.

It was dusk when they arrived at the other camp. Though it was a quick ride thanks to Donnach's hurried pace -- perhaps only five minutes by chocobo -- they had waited too long for Danielle's return and the sun was setting.

Farin was lounging in the officer's tent, quite similar to that of Danielle's camp. In fact, Edgar noted that the layouts had almost been identical. He should have known the Imperials were disciplined in that regard, but it was surprising given how little time Farin's army had to prepare.

Danielle was there. The two were alone without bodyguards, though Donnach had brought Edgar and Cyan through three layers of brandished steel.

"Well, it seems your guests, my impatient ones, are here," Danielle stood up. Her tone was a stark contrast to the one she had left with. Instead she was warm and friendly, almost bubbly. She glanced up and made eye-contact with Edgar. "We will finish tomorrow," she decided.

"Of course," Farin answered despite the confusion that should have occurred from Danielle's speech. He rose only to salute, standing tall and proud. "Glory to the Empire, my Empress."

"And to you, General Starson," Danielle smiled once more before leaving. As she passed Edgar, she brought her lips near his ear. "We'll talk tomorrow as well," she whispered. "How about lunch?"

Edgar nodded, ignoring the tingling sensation of her breath. Little respect for the rules of diplomacy indeed.

The Empress left.

"Cyan Garamonde, it's good to see that you survived the winter. I take it you took my suggestion?"

"I did, Farin Starson," Cyan greeted formally. He gestured beside him. "May I present King Edgar of Figaro."

Farin was still standing, so the bow of respect was not in the least awkward. "Your Highness."

"Major-General Starson," Edgar stuttered -- there were only two stars upon his chest and he decided to avoid the usual slang that most soldiers used. "I admit, I didn't expect such warmth," he hinted at their last meeting.

"You weren't officially recognized as an ally then," Farin replied. "And given the circumstances, I think my reactions were perfectly warranted."

Whether he spoke of Cyan's outburst or Edgar's usurped throne, it was unclear.

"Well, enough of the pleasantries. I know you're a man of action, Cyan. This must grate on your nerves."

Cyan scoffed. "There is a time and place for both, Farin."

The three men settled into what seats there were, chairs made of metal and cloth -- they looked highly portable. It was quite informal and despite Farin's high ranking, there was none of the tension that Edgar had felt before. Perhaps it was because he knew that anything said wasn't particularly binding, or maybe it was just the way Farin had treated them.

Or... was Danielle playing him? Tense before, now relaxed.

No, she wasn't that good.

"Cyan, I heard about your little outburst during the Imperial Counsel. Unfortunately I was not there, I was busy with other-" Farin seemed annoyed, "-matters."

"I heard you were quite absorbed in the Wilds," Cyan remarked.

"So your popularity serves you well," Farin smiled. "Quite a few men of the Third and Ninth armies are already here, and I have brought the rest with me."

"I thought you were protecting Tzen from the Plague," Cyan pointed out. His tone had soured slightly. "Why did you shirk such an important duty?"

"Miscommunication, General Cassidy is in charge of Tzen now and he's quite capable," Farin waved aside their concerns. "Fortunately, such miscommunication will soon be a thing of that past. But really, I'm glad to be here. There is nothing I want more than to avenge those of Vector and set the Maverick in his place. I heard you were of the same mind."

"There is a certain sense of justice that would be served if the Maverick were brought to trial," Cyan admitted.

"Don't be so restrained, Sir Cyan."

Edgar's mouth almost dropped open. The way Farin had just pronounced 'sir', it was exactly the same as Danielle's inflection.

"Your outburst was surprising. Not that you had an outburst-" Farin chuckled softly but he was alone in his laughter, "-but what you expressed. Brigadier Falkland is a good friend of mine, he told me that you called them savage beasts. I must admit, that is an excellent description of the threat we face."

"It was an outburst," Cyan defended himself.

"An excellent one," Farin commended. "The traitors to the west cannot be left in peace, I urged the Empress of this fact just after her coronation but she was unwilling to commit. I understood her reasons and I kept quiet, hoping that she was correct and we would not have to sacrifice anymore of our soldiers in extended warfare. Unfortunately, I was right. As always, those who have betrayed us once cannot be trusted ever again. These traitors that the Maverick commands must be annihilated and he brought to justice. The Inquisition is an excellent step in dealing with these fanatical mages and I intend to be a part of the next phase."

"I think you want to be a part of that too, Sir Cyan."

Cyan's eyes were wide in shock, an expression rarely seen on the restrained Knight's face. Edgar knew Cyan wanted to be near the front, but this offer was...

"I'll give you a hundred -- no, a thousand! -- men to command. I won't insult you or your history by giving you a rank, instead you shall only be known as Sir Cyan. You will be accountable to no one but me, with a force of veterans that you may direct as you see fit. Infantry or cavalry, it will be your choice."

"Farin," Cyan was still shocked. "Know that while I-"

"Please," Farin held up a hand. "I understand your reluctance perfectly well, I know your past. But this-" his hand swept towards the west, "-is treachery that cannot go unpunished. I know there is a fire within you, the same fire that burns within me. We will ride into battle, punish these cowards and traitors that dare pretend to be civilized. We will destroy the evil that sends a sweeping disease to kill our innocents: the men, women and children that rely on us warriors to protect them! Are we not of the same mind, Cyan?"

Edgar looked up at Cyan, but the Knight of Doma was not searching for the opinion or support of his friend.

"We are of the same mind."

"Then take my offer, Cyan Garamonde, honourable Knight of Doma! Let it be known throughout the world that justice was served."

"Very well General," there was no hesitation in his response. "I accept."

The two men clasped hands, grinning the smile men had when speaking of victory in war.

"You will not regret this," Farin broke their handshake. "Together, we will ensure that this menace shall never rise again."

Cyan nodded. "Of course. It will be my pleasure."

"Excellent! We will discuss this tomorrow, but there is one other thing," Farin added. "Relm is here."

"Excuse me?" Edgar and Cyan both stuttered at the same time.

"She was insistent that she come with me; said she wanted to be reunited with her uncle and grandfather. An intelligent little one who still remembers my promise, I like her. She has both spirit and a clear mind, and will grow up to be just like Lady Terra."

Promise? Here? Edgar clutched his forehead in frustration. How did she-? When did she-?

"You said she's with you?" Cyan asked the moment Farin finished.

"Yes. I'll take you to her now, I'm sure you've missed her."

---

In hindsight, Edgar should have expected it. But he hadn't been privy to all the facts and the leaps of logic that would have been required for him to guess that Relm had befriended Farin, they were just too far-fetched.

But Cyan should have known.

They all should have known better. He should have alerted Douglas that she might try something like this. But there had been no time and really, when the world was the way it was, how could he have prioritized her so highly? Yet here she was. It was a lesson learned the hard way.

Relm was indefatigable.

"I cannot believe you left the safety of the fleet!" Cyan was half-shouting. Farin had left them alone in the officer area of the camp. They were safe here and their conversation private. "To imagine you would be so imprudent, it is maddening!"

Relm's arms were folded. "I shouldn't have to rely on an old friend to see you or gramps," she snapped.

"An old friend?" Cyan echoed. "Are you talking about Farin Starson?"

Relm's silence was even more infuriating than her retorts.

Cyan cried out in frustration. "I cannot believe that I felt sorry leaving you safe and sound, away from the chaos that is the Empire!"

"Well I'm here now, and just as safe as before," Relm's confidence was the stuff of legends considering her adversary was an enraged Cyan Garamonde. Edgar, who had kept safe distance from it all and felt himself impartial, was almost impressed that she could stand up to Cyan. Sometimes, he didn't think he had that much nerve.

"No! You are in incredible danger," Cyan declared, looming over Strago's granddaughter like a giant.

"I know about the Plague," Relm glared at her surrogate uncle. "Considering that, the Imperial Army is the safest place to be."

The veins in Cyan's temple seemed ready to burst. "Damn your impudence!" he shouted.

"She's right," Edgar quickly stepped in. As disturbingly enjoyable as it was to see a little girl half his height and a third of his weight cause him so much grief, this could not go on. "Convoys have recently been ambushed and the Imperial Army has begun sending troops to secure their lines, apparently between the Plague and the fallout of the Civil War, people feel bold enough to steal from the army. Any of them could be carriers though. We can't risk sending her back, not anymore."

Cyan groaned.

"So I'm here to stay," Relm declared. "Now where's that silly gramps? I can't wait to see the look on his face-" her bravado faltered when she saw the expressions on their faces. "What's wrong?" she asked.

Too smart for her own good, Edgar sighed. They couldn't even lie to her.

"Your grandfather is not here," Cyan answered grimly. "He left for Vector last night."

Relm's mouth was open. "Wha-?"

"He went to fight the Plague," Edgar added. "He wanted to help Terra find a cure."

"But the Plague, it's in Vector. That's what Farin said..."

"We know, dear one," Cyan bent down on one knee and looked her in the eye. "He knows."

"It doesn't discriminate, anyone can catch it at anytime," she continued with wide eyes. "And he's so old, if... if..."

"He knows."

Relm's eyes glistened. "Then why... why that stupid gramps-" she sniffled.

"To do what's right," Edgar whispered in a hollow voice. "Because he always does what's right."

"But that's so stupid!"

"I'm sorry dear one, it was his choice," Cyan pulled her close, but Relm snapped back and pushed him aside.

"Stupid gramps!" she wiped her eyes before tears formed. "Stupid stupid gramps!" she screamed.

The two men gave her the space she needed as she vented. Relm stormed back and forth in the tent, complaining to no one in particular as she ranted about her grandfather and his foolishness.

Edgar supposed Cyan had judged it to be the right time -- it certainly didn't feel that way to him -- as the Knight stepped forward and halted Relm in her tracks. "That's enough. I know you understand exactly what your grandfather has done."

"He's fighting the Plague," Relm grumbled. There was still wetness beneath her eyes.

"And that is the proper thing to do," Cyan said. Both hands clasped her shoulders as he knelt once more. "You understand that, right?"

Relm nodded reluctantly.

"Good. Come on now, you can stay with Edgar in Halstead," Cyan said as he stood up.

"Why, what about you?" she asked suspiciously.

Too smart for her own good, Edgar thought again.

Cyan paused. "I'm going... away," he answered poorly.

"You accepted Farin's offer!"

"How did you-" Cyan grimaced. It was too late, he had just confirmed her words.

"You're going to war. I knew it!" Relm glared daggers at her uncle. "And you're leaving me behind again!"

"Edgar will be in-"

"I want to come!"

"That's impossible," Cyan ruled flat-out. "There is grave risk on the battlefield, I will not gamble with your life."

Relm pursed her lips. To Edgar, he could tell that she was just biding her time. She was thinking of something, scheming. "Uh oh", he mumbled when he saw the look of confusion fade away.

Her eyes blazed with spirit. "Then let me learn about war on the front," she asked. "Let me see what you do out there."

"No," Cyan drew himself to his full height and folded his arms. "It's too dangerous to be with me."

But Relm had already expected that. "I said learn, not fight. Let me go with Farin and learn about war through him. You know I'll be safe if I'm surrounded by his people!"

When Cyan paused, Edgar already knew who had won this battle. He would say something, but he didn't feel it was his place. For one thing, Relm was right. She would be well-protected if she travelled with the commanding officers of the Imperial Army. For another...

"If you truly desire to learn the arts of war, then I commend your resolve," Cyan decided. "However, the decision will be left to Farin, and he may not agree."

There was a devilish, yet disarmingly cute grin on her face. "He'll agree."

For another, Relm deserved to win. It was an applaudable diplomatic solution... and at least somebody was getting what they wanted for once.

---

It might have been night, but the streets of Vector were anything but dark. Flickering street-lamps kept the city illuminated, though many of those poles were broken upon the ground. Three men on chocobos, fully-armored with visors down, watched the streets carefully. Their crossbows were not far from reach, but for now they wielded pikes to keep any potential carriers at bay.

Carriers. It was the term that many an Imperial soldier now used when speaking of the infected. It helped distance them from their fellow citizens.

Strago was in a dark mood, sitting alone in an enclosed carriage as they passed through Vector. He had not seen any of the riots they were warned of, but that was not uplifting news. He shook his head sadly, wishing there were no lights.

He did not want to see the bodies on the streets.

They were fresh, from what he could tell. The Imperial Army had been clearing the dead off the streets as often as possible, but they were few in number and tasked with keeping the peace. The capital itself seemed well on its way to destruction, with many buildings half broken and the structures themselves bare to the light of the moon. He knew that he was being pessimistic, Strago had been briefed by the Captain of his guards -- Vector had been recovering from its sack when the Plague hit.

Still, no sane man could remain optimistic in days such as these.

The walls of the Imperial Palace loomed ahead, Strago's eyes were wide-open in awe of the flawless black stone. He had read of such feats in the ancient texts, but to see with his own eyes...

Never in all years had he expected the past to become reality.

Strago sighed. Then again, he had never expected to see cities as vast as Vector -- and this was as far from her prime as possible. It seemed life had kept most of the surprises hidden until now.

A guttural groan escaped his throat as they neared the gates of the Imperial Palace. Though the road was clear thanks to the work of armed soldiers, there were still people on the streets. Many were huddled around fires, trying to get as close to the palace without setting off the ire of the guards.

Others pushed around carts filled with jars of strangely-coloured liquids; hawkers profiting off the desperate. He could hear their words proclaiming that they had a cure, that the Empire had been hiding it from them. They said anything and everything in order to make money, several proclaiming that their cures were free of magic; the thing responsible for the Plague.

Entering the Palace took a while. They were stopped again and again by soldiers at the gates. Strago left the alleged safety of his carriage in order to pass the second layer of gates. Luckily, the guards that accompanied him from Halstead fielded most of the questions. He waited impatiently, his foot tapping the ground as yet another pair of Imperial soldiers stopped them.

They were questioned thrice at the gates, twice before they were in sight of a vast staircase that led to the Imperial Palace proper, and then once more at both the bottom and the top of the stairs. Strago sighed with relief as they finally entered the lobby of the Palace.

A squad of soldiers -- only now did Strago notice that all their brown-leather armor was trimmed black -- awaited them. Leading them was a long-haired moustached officer, an insignia bearing twin-swords crossed was foremost among the many awards upon his breast.

"Mage Strago?" the man held out his hand. "Major Ivers, Commander of the Imperial Guard."

Without hesitation, Strago shook the stranger's hand. "Nice to meet you Major. I'm here to work with Terra."

"Yes, your papers were unusually complete. First Citizen Branford-" Ivers stressed her title with his peculiar accent, "-is in the Imperial Library; a heavily restricted area. I'll take you there."

Strago gestured with his hand, aware that he had slighted the Imperial officer by addressing Terra so casually. "I am in your debt. Please, lead the way."

The Imperial Palace had seen better times, her corridors still showed signs of battle. Melted steel, shattered stone and a trio of leafless trees with concentric rings of barren dirt around them, Strago could still feel the lingering aftermath of magical warfare. The spells exchanged had been vicious and savage, nothing more than brute force given metaphysical form.

Another of the topics in his ancient texts, and one Strago had hoped that he would never encounter.

They were stopped near the twisted oaks by a trio of threatening soldiers. These men were bulky underneath their woollen cloaks. A single emblem that was nothing more than a black octagon bearing a white Imperial mark was emblazoned by their hearts.

"Major Ivers?" the lead man asked.

A scowl was on Ivers' face. "What do you want, High Inquisitor?"

"Nothing more than a moment of your time."

"I am busy, as you can see."

"It is a matter of pressing security; we just need to ask a couple of questions."

Ivers scowled again. "Fine," he turned to one of the men accompanying Strago. "Sergeant, you're in charge."

"Sir."

The four men left, Strago watching the backs of the cloaked men as they departed. So this was the Inquisition that Danielle had created. How interesting.

"Mage Strago, please, the First Citizen awaits."

---

The Imperial Library was a barren chamber, the size of which was stunning. Thamasa and her outlying farms could have been enclosed underneath the monstrous roof that stretched above them. The combined texts of his village would have filled no more than a single shelf. It was so vast that it almost defied his comprehension; indeed he found it difficult to accurately gauge the distance from one end of the room to the other.

"What happened to all the books?" he mumbled to no one in particular.

"Burned by the barbarian," the Sergeant responded.

"Burned?" Strago's mouth dropped open. He looked around the gigantic room once more -- all that knowledge! "That's... that's _barbaric_."

"Quite," was the succinct reply. The Sergeant spoke with several of the soldiers standing guard and then strolled across the room. Strago followed through the many attended tables, scholars still delving into books despite the late hour, until he finally laid eyes on her. A smile spread on his face, their favourite half-Esper in the flesh at last.

Terra was surrounded by a dozen men, most wearing white coats, all writing in a clipboard or notebook as she talked. It was quite an assorted crowd aside from them, notably a woman in dark-leather with two lethal-looking swords by her hips. Immediately, Strago realized she was a Magitek Knight.

Then his eyes narrowed in concern.

Was her hair grey?

"-your recent spell-form, in addition to those sections of texts that were outlined. Thus I believe we have figured out the flaw in our implementation. The issue was not the concept of frequency transforms or even the instruments for modulation, but that of supplying signal power," one of the men wearing white reported in a professional tone.

Terra noticed Strago. A thin smile broke on her cold and detached face.

"Thank you Robert. Then that should be high priority, but not the utmost. While the Empress wants the prototype improved upon in range, I want to stress that our main task remains as it always has been," Terra concluded. "That's enough for tonight. Again, great work everyone."

The crowd dispersed after thanking the First Citizen. Only the Magitek Knight in black-leather remained.

"Terra," Strago forced the smile back to his face as he approached. "It's good to see you again."

Her hair was grey, and it wasn't dye or anything of the sort.

"When I heard you were coming, I couldn't believe my ears," Terra expressed as Strago crossed the distance between them. "You look great, Strago."

They embraced out of politeness. Once apart, Terra turned towards the Magitek Knight.

"Catherine, if you would leave us."

The woman's head was bowed submissively. "As you command, Sophis."

Strago's smile vanished. What did she just say?

Terra was a bundle of restrained joy. "You don't know how happy I am to see you moving, Strago," she sighed. "When I think back to those nights after the airship crash, I admit that more than once, I thought you had no hope. It's so great, and also to have you here!"

"Well, I pray that your standards for me improve. Just because I'm old doesn't mean moving is any great achievement you know," Strago answered with a sly smile.

He must have heard wrong.

Terra giggled. "You know I didn't mean that," she pointed out.

"Do I?" Strago's mischievous grin grew wider as her mood grew warmer. "Now that's the smile I'm used to seeing! You're too young to look so grumpy, leave that to us old men."

"I thought you wanted me to ignore those stereotypes!"

"Only when it suits me," Strago remarked.

Terra suppressed another giggle. "I've missed you, Strago."

"I -- no, all of us -- have missed you," he put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. "How is Locke?" he said with a devious grin. "You two are generally inseparable, even back in my village! I don't see him hanging around here, so I guess he's up to no good?"

Terra's good mood took on an artificial quality. Her radiance dimmed and her bloodshot eyes flickered away from the old man. "He's gone," she answered simply.

Strago's eyes grew wide and a shiver travelled down his spine. "Gone?" he whispered. "That's... that's not possible. He's too damn persistent to fall to disease!"

"He's not dead yet," Terra corrected herself, but there was no change in her attitude. "He left Vector a few days ago."

"And leave you here alone?" Strago frowned. "What an irresponsible young man. I'll give him a good talking to when he gets back."

"If he comes back-" Terra's forced smile was gone now, "-and anyways, I doubt you'd accomplish anything. He was pretty intent on joining the Inquisition and hunting down the Maverick's men."

"He joined the Imperials? _Locke_ joined the Empire?" Strago could not believe his ears. "We are talking about the same Locke, right?"

Terra sighed. "How's Relm?" she asked instead.

"She's fine. Still causing everyone trouble and showing up where she doesn't belong. We managed to keep her aboard Edgar's fleet, so she'll be safe," Strago was still interested in Locke and didn't give much thought into the matter. "Tell me about this Inquisition."

"That's good," Terra's smile returned. "At least Cyan's with her. He'll be able to protect her from anything."

His mood soured. "She'll be away from the war and the plague, that's all that matters."

"So I guess Edgar convinced you to do this?"

"I'm not a child who needs guidance," Strago scoffed. "I'm here of my own accord; I know how deadly disease is and if there's magic involved, well, you're going to need some help. Finding a cure... it's a terrible burden."

Terra expression was hollow, devoid of anything remotely resembling optimism. Strago had seen that expression before and with a shudder, knew at last that the past was gone forever.

"The books we have are all that remain, but they were Gestahl's personal possessions and their quality is high. The selection has been quite broad so far, from theory to philosophy, he had an interesting collection. I've divided the texts amongst all the aides we have, but many are in dead languages and the scholars that can read those are few," Terra gestured to a seat and the two sat down at her desk.

"Do you really think a cure can be found in the books of the past?" Strago phrased his question to guide her.

"No," Terra tapped one of the books that were open on her desk. "But we find references to disease all the time. As well, poison isn't exactly a lost art -- magical or not -- so the counter-poisons are often in these books."

"Then we'll find one with similar effects and experiment with the original cure?"

"That's the plan, but it's beginning to look like an impossible dream. The labs are busy working from another angle, but I don't think they'll succeed. No, I'm still certain that the answer is somewhere in these books. I just know it."

Strago eyed the half-Esper -- grey hair and all -- and nodded. "I believe you," he said sagely, "and you'll be glad to know that I'm a master of quite a few dead languages."

"I hoped as much," Terra waved for an aide. A young girl scrambled to them, perhaps half-a-decade younger than Terra. "Yes Sophis?" she asked with her head half-bowed.

Strago's eyes went wide. He had not heard wrong.

"If you could take Strago to the books no one can read, I'd be quite grateful. Have a couple guards find a desk and carry them for you, I'm sure they wouldn't mind the exercise."

"As you wish, Sophis," the young girl nodded again, rather submissively in Strago's opinion. She curtsied and turned to him. "Mister Strago? The books are downstairs."

"Please have the soldiers carry all of them here, I'll separate out the relevant ones on my own."

"Of course."

As the girl scrambled away, Strago scowled. "What-"

"Sophis," it was the woman in dark-leather from before. "Major Ivers requests a quick moment of your time. He says it's of grave importance."

Terra stood. "Sorry, I'll be right back."

As the two departed, Strago grumbled underneath his breath. There had to be a logical explanation, though for the life of him he couldn't find one that put Terra in a good light. There was only one reason and that was not good.

His eyes wandered over the books Terra had been reading. He took a closer look.

_-the power of which would radiate even while idling as a mere spear. So it was that they came prepared, a spell designed specifically to disable Gungnir. Treachery had been the source of his fall -- pride once again his undoing -- but it is the binding of force that must be noted. An attentive reader would recall the failures just two centuries before: controlling vast quantities of energy had been attempted and failed due to-_

Strago put down the book. Interesting history, but nothing that should have had anything to do with finding a cure. He flipped the tome over and read its title, but the gilded letters had been worn away through time and the front pages were ripped out.

He supposed that Terra and her aides had been comprehensive in their search, leaving no books unturned so long as they could read them. Why else would she have been reading a title-less, unremarkable tome?

A smile spread on his face. Terra had probably been skimming, just like Relm. He remembered how his granddaughter studied, how her eyes would glaze over as she ignored the details of magical theory. Relm had no interest in such things, but she always liked a good story. Maybe Terra and his granddaughter had more in common than he thought.

Still, his expression hardened as Terra returned. This Sophis business had to stop.

"I've never seen Major Ivers so unnerved," she sighed as she sat down. Terra rubbed at her bloodshot eyes. "I'm sorry about that Strago, they do it to me all the time. There's always something that needs my attention."

"Why are they calling you that?" Strago asked directly.

Terra pressed her lips together, confused. "What?"

"Sophis: why are they calling you a Sophis?"

Terra rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I'm sorry about that. They don't really-"

"You realize what it means, don't you?"

"I don't appreciate being interrupted," Terra remarked. Her eyes narrowed. "Or your tone for that matter."

Strago rubbed his sweaty forehead. It was late and he was too tired for this. "Terra, you're special, we've gone over this. Your lineage is unique and you're a wonderful girl, but having others address you in this manner-"

"They forced it on me," Terra snapped.

"Oh? So they decided to worship you as a goddess on their own?"

Terra sighed. "Yes," she mumbled.

"And you just let them," Strago waved his hands in the air. "After all, there's nothing wrong with pretending to be a goddess! The submissive worshippers, they're just facts of life. Everyone bows their heads, addresses you only by title, and treats your word as law. After all, it's not as if blind reverence of Gods hasn't led to anything horrible in the past, like a worldwide war that nearly annihilated humanity!"

"I'm disappointed in you, Terra," he shook his head.

"It wasn't my choice," Terra growled. "And they were quite a bit more overt before, it took me weeks to convince them to stop kneeling."

"Maybe you should stop surrounding yourself with weak-willed fools willing to deify anything," Strago snapped. "I can't believe you would do something like this."

"Fools?" Terra echoed. "Now see here Strago, you're surrounded by the best minds of the Empire, put together by Anson himself. I think you should have a little more respect for the people that are putting their lives at risk to find a cure."

"Religious fervour has levelled continents in the past," Strago growled. "It doesn't matter how intelligent this Anson and his team of great minds are, they're fools for placing faith and deifying-"

"Strago, I will not stand for this tirade!" Terra was red-faced and her voice controlled, but she was definitely angry.

"Listen Terra, it's immoral for you to delude these people with your magic and-"

"No! You will listen and you will remember that these people are risking their lives to save us all from this Plague; they deserve your respect. I am not deluding or forcing anyone to call me Sophis, they choose to follow my lead. They know I'm not perfect, but that doesn't stop them. Why? Because I use my gift to help the people of the world -- because power begets responsibility. I try with every fibre in my body to help others, that's why they follow me!"

Terra shook her head in disgust. "But I suppose since you've spent your entire life hiding your abilities instead of helping those in need, you feel it's morally necessary to lecture me."

Strago felt his blood boil. He wanted to retort, but knew better and kept quiet. They were saved from a long period of awkward silence when one of the white-coated men arrived in a hurry; he still gasping for air.

But this was far from over.

"First Citizen, these statistics," he showed her a graph on his clipboard. "We're pretty sure they're indicative of a trend."

Strago could see that the graph was fluctuated up and down, with many dots here and there and a line somewhere in the middle. There were all sorts of numbers in the margins, symbols scrawled on. He couldn't make out much more than that though, the writing was illegible and what could be read seemed to be in another language.

Terra didn't bother to look at all. "What's the trend?"

"The time while symptomatic, it's growing," the scientist flipped through his notes. "We have some who nearly survived three weeks, and one of the ones who died today was just starting his fourth week."

"So we were wrong with our estimates?" Terra stood up. "How did this happen? And what else could we be wrong about?"

"Not wrong," the scientist returned to his original graph. "I really wish we wrong, but there's consensus in the labs."

"Out with it already!"

The scientist shook his head. "It's the Plague, First Citizen. The Plague is evolving!"


	22. No Mercy

**The Twenty-Second Chapter - No Mercy**

The warm wind whipped at his face. It was arid out upon the Plains of Callaghan and there were many who preferred the fresh, salty breeze that came from Breckenridge Sound.

Not Cyan Garamonde. The heat invigorated him. He could almost feel the blood coursing through his veins as his chocobo galloped through the rough country. Talons picked out soft patches of ground between the hard rock as rider and mount climbed steadily higher. A few trees were here and there, but the vast majority of vegetation was wild-grass that they trampled over.

The well-trained bird halted on his own, alerting his rider with a loud cry.

They stopped just shy of a sheer precipice, one that dropped a dizzying height. A few pebbles rolled off the side and fell out of sight. Beyond was the vast expanse of Callaghan, a soft breeze rippling through the fields of wild-grass. The sky was still a muted grey, but just the slightest trace of the rising sun could been seen peaking over the horizon. A wide, speedy river twisted its way towards the light -- it had probably carved out the valley below in ages long since forgotten. Now it lay quite far away; a lush, fertile field between it and the cliffs.

His eyes narrowed.

Upon that fertile field of wild-grass was a fortified camp. It was not permanent, but typical Imperial practice for armies in the field. Trenches, battlements, ordered rows of tents and makeshift roads were a hint to the eye of any discerning foreigner: this was no band of barbarians, but a disciplined, civilized force.

Even if they belonged to the Maverick.

"Sir!" three more chocobo riders arrived, outpaced by the Knight of Doma but not in the least bit weary. The closest, a broad-shouldered man who wore an eye-patch, held out a pair of binoculars. The other two maintained their distance.

"I can see far enough, Captain," Cyan replied. He had no need for a pair of lenses.

Beneath them, the army of General Forsythe was manoeuvring once more. Nightfall had led to a deadly mistake: camping upon defensible terrain instead of readying for a quick departure in the morning. The choice might have been obvious for a lesser leader, but for one that had been on the run as long as Forsythe had, it was a glaring oversight.

One that would lead to his death.

Just finished fording the river was the Second Army, led personally by General Alysworth. They were spread out, somewhere in the order of fifty-thousand men. Hundreds of crimson banners flapped in the wind, the varied marks of those who bore them were inscribed proudly in gold and black threads. Though few were the same, the Imperial Emblem was the only symbol visible at a distance. The plains were covered by the Empire; from this distance, the varying greens of wild grass were totally replaced by the brown helmets of the Imperial Army.

This was but one of the dispositions that the Empire had sent into the Plains of Callaghan, and one alone was all that was necessary to crush Forsythe's retreating forces. For two weeks, a combination of five Imperial Armies had manoeuvred again and again, pushing Forsythe further and further back while trying to force an engagement. Outgunned and outnumbered, Forsythe had been unwilling to fight.

It was a war of attrition. Their opponent gave ground, retreating north of Oakham while gathering many of the units scattered about the countryside. The Imperials had laid siege to that city while perusing their prey. They could not trap Forsythe -- the man had been a career soldier under Gestahl and his generalship was more than just academic -- but they could prevent him from uniting with the rest of the Maverick's forces.

They pursued the enemy so far that even the Imperials had to worry about being stretched too thin. Forsythe knew this and Cyan supposed this General of the Maverick's might have thought his odds were good. Karen Alysworth's army was the larger, but made up of lighter units. At least, that's what one might have guessed from the pace of the chase.

"Forsythe's no fool, have to give the man credit for that. But he's been outplayed; General Alysworth's a genius," the Captain analysed. He smiled as a thunderous roar erupted from the Second Army.

The artillery pieces had fired and their song would not end for hours. The Third Battle of Callaghan had finally begun.

"Forsythe has the cliff on his left, but he is focusing the bulk of his forces on the right," a lifetime of experience interpreted the situation unerringly. "What is General Alysworth doing? Her disposition over there cannot hold!" Cyan growled. He noted that the twists and turns of the river had serendipitously given Forysthe room for manoeuvre while depriving Karen of the same.

The Captain held out the pair of binoculars to Cyan. "It seems Forsythe expects just that."

Cyan knew that the eye-patch wearing Imperial was no fool -- many of Farin's men were quite capable thinkers as well as warriors. He reluctantly pressed the lenses against his eyes and squinted.

Fifty-thousand men were about to become locked in combat, each square-like formation was six ranks deep and hundreds abreast. There were many of these staggered in lines, spacing between still intact as they advanced. Thousands of men in brown leather armor were about to slaughter each other should the opportunity arise.

And that opportunity was still likely, despite the ferocity of the artillery duel. There was no worry of a long siege, Alysworth's forces were advancing without abandon and no matter what type of battlement had been built in Forsythe's favour, they were hastily-raised and the quality was lacking. In addition, the same cliffs and rivers that protected the enemy's flanks were also bottling him up.

This would be a bloodbath.

But the real story were in the guns -- hundreds of cannon pieces firing continuously. Cyan had never seen so many gathered; attached to wheels and drawn by chocobo. The Imperials had never relied on the cannon, preferring their hulking Armors instead.

However, with the massive disparity in artillery, General Alysworth was slaughtering the entrenched traitors. Thick knots of black smoke rose into the air behind the thousands of friendly soldiers on foot, thundering blasts so numerous that there was a continuous rumble in the earth. A dark cloud began to form overhead from all the cannonade.

It was devastatingly effective, so effective that Forsythe's decision to leave his fortified camp was a blunder beyond compare.

And then beams of brilliant crimson light exploded through the Maverick's ranks, those lucky enough to survive the cascading walls of flame were sent flying away by the force of many explosions. Miniature mushroom clouds rose into the sky, glowing crimson and raining ash below.

"Those men on the right flank, they strike a different poise," Cyan mused at last. He lowered the lenses. "Heartier."

"That's Fedelis."

"Fedelis?" Cyan echoed.

"Veterans, sir. 9th Division; they fought for Maley's Point through the winter. Tough bastards."

Cyan allowed himself a brief smile. Everything became clear to him. "It seems Forsythe could not comprehend the changes in disposition."

The Captain nodded.

"Very well, alert General Starson," Cyan turned his chocobo around. "The cliffs are impassable, worthless even for a small team to scale. We must hasten the march."

"-and then we'll have'em between two fires!"

Cyan nodded gravely. "The day shall be ours."

North of battlefield, the four men galloped back to the Third Imperial Army. Forsythe had made his last mistake: an additional forty-thousand men were about to make their presence felt.

---

She narrowly avoided the big hulking soldier, his armor and cape combined made him seem like two men. She scowled at him, but between the metal helmet and his quick pace, he saw nothing.

"And you are?"

Relm turned around and looked up. These soldiers were taller than the rest. "I'm Relm," she answered.

The bearded man frowned. "Well I don't know if I'm supposed to let children through..."

Relm scowled at him. "General Alysworth told me to be here before the battle."

"Well the battle's started, hasn't it?" the soldier pretended to cover his ears as the mass of cannons fired once again. "Schedules are strict, early or tardy, we can't make any exceptions."

"Stop teasing her," his partner snapped. "Go right ahead, Relm, before the General notices."

Relm smiled warmly at the man who helped her out before rushing past them. Karen and her staff were not in a tent for once, their tables of maps and models were finally exposed to the sun. They were surrounded by a cordon of soldiers as messengers constantly ran in and out.

"Girlie! Glad to see you finally made it," it was one of older men on Karen's staff. He had bushy eyebrows that made it seem like he was always angry, but Relm discovered that the man was just the opposite. "They're over there," he pointed to the right.

At the biggest table was a huge map pinned down with blocks on top. Encircling that was a host of officers; Karen Alysworth and many of her staff. The General was easily picked out, her dark cape fluttered each time the cannons fired. She was wearing brown leather armor, one with wide shoulder guards and many leather segments that encircled her body.

The first time Relm had met the General, she hadn't seemed any different from the other ladies back home. Farin had done the introductions, praising the lady and explaining that Karen would make a better mentor. It was obvious that Farin owed Karen a favour now, so Relm grudgingly followed her around. Relm hadn't liked it at first -- Cyan wasn't going to be with Farin -- but then she saw Karen work.

She saw what it was like to be at the head of the Imperial Army.

Tens of thousands of soldiers were at her beck and call. Many were bigger and stronger than she was, some were older and others younger, but they all respected her. If Karen started talking, everyone would hush up and listen. If Karen wanted something, they would get it for her right away. Even if Karen wasn't doing anything, everyone would glance at her nervously, waiting for her commands.

It was awesome.

And then there was the army. It was huge! She had thought Farin's army was big, but his was just a small part of the Imperial Forces. Karen didn't give her a number, but Relm guessed it was something like half a million. It was just like the stories in her grandfather's books.

"They're driving towards our right flank as we speak," one of the officers pushed a red block on the hastily drawn map. "Intelligence confirms that Forsythe has yet to withdraw back to his camp."

"It seems like the 9th's ruse worked," commented another.

"But now engagement is unavoidable lest we expose ourselves. If they have plague poison, we could be risking everything. It'd be no different from marching into Magitek fire!"

Karen made eye-contact with Relm for a brief moment -- the mood was serious and a silent greeting was the limit of courtesy -- and nodded sagely. "Well, we expected as much. Artillery and Magitek Armors look great on paper, but in the end we must rely on steel. Only a fool would make plans without preparing for the enemy's greatest weapon; remind all commanders of quarantine procedures and have all doctors prepare for the worst."

"Hasn't this started too soon?" a short officer, barely half a head taller than Relm, pointed out. His eyelids were drooping as if he needed a nap. "The plan was drawn with the assumption of engaging after dawn, not before! Yet they marched to battle the moment we crossed the river."

"No, this is correct," Karen answered immediately. "The timing should be perfect."

"But Fedelis may not hold against that force," the short man protested again.

"They will. Have faith," was Karen's curt reply.

"Still, we should reinforce river-side," pointed out a tall man with a blue cape. "The 9th Division is stout, but we risk Forsythe trying to escape by fording the river. Considering our lack of communications with General Starson, we should not take the risk."

Karen folded her arms. "Derek, would you explain to the Major why we haven't cordoned off the river?"

All eyes fell upon a young boy. Relm thought he was maybe two or three years older than she was. He was actually taller than some of the officers but so thin that he looked like he never ate. A lanky kid like him was out of place amongst large, hulking professional warriors.

Relm had met Derek a couple days earlier, when Farin had first introduced her to Karen. He had been quiet then and was quiet now. That Karen had picked on him turned his cheeks cherry-red.

"Well," Derek cleared his throat. His eyes darted around meekly.

"It's quite alright," Karen soothed in a soft tone. "You've been under my tutelage for several months while the Major has been securing our lives against the enemy. He doesn't mind being shown up," a glare was directed at the blue caped man.

"Think of this as a test," the Major quickly added.

Derek looked down at the map, analysing carefully. His eyes snapped up at last. "We should leave an outlet free as we press forward. It's so tempting to attack that they won't think of anything else. By funnelling the enemy along a predictable path, the chances of being surprised elsewhere is minimal."

Relm glanced at the map. That made sense.

"Very good. Most importantly, we don't want Forsythe to get desperate," Karen explained. "He knows that it's not a blunder and we're aware of our weakness, but it'll still play with his emotions. He'll remain lax, advancing instead of fortifying because he believes in his last resorts: to manoeuvre across the river and flee, or to attempt to accost us doubly along the right flank."

Most of the general's staff looked shocked. "What if he does just that?"

"Then he's already lost," Karen scowled as a particularly loud cannon explosion deafened their ears. "Major, see to it that the men don't destroy all our guns in their haste. I want the enemy destroyed, but not at the expense of our artillery pieces."

The blue caped man nodded. His fist went to his heart. "Sir."

As he left though, another arrived. This one was a messenger who exchanged hushed words with one of the General's staff. Quickly, he readjusted the red blocks, putting several on top of the blue hexes that represented the river. "This disposition is already minutes old," he growled. "If the 9th falls-"

But Karen had already stepped away, bringing her binoculars up to her eyes and looking towards the center of the enemy army. Relm could make out the enemy without aid though; they dotted the field with their numbers, a mass of black and brown that was covered in smoke. Fire beams lanced towards them, raking lines in the field and searing an uncountable number of men with each shot. Karen's army retaliated with dozens of blasts for every shot as rows upon rows of cannons thundered away.

"Fools. They've thinned their ranks," she commented to no one in particular. Karen glanced down. "Relm, have you read the texts I gave you?"

Relm looked around her in shock, realizing she was standing right beside the lady general. No one else had dared, but she had accidentally stepped forward in order to find out what Karen was observing.

"Of course," she replied with what confidence she could muster. "The entire stack!"

"I take it that's why you were late."

Relm grimaced. "Yes ma'am."

"Very well, let's see what you've learned. What is our next course of action?"

Relm pursed her lips, swinging a leg from side to side as she thought. Karen had given her many books and she had read many of them, but they were long and boring so she had skimmed a lot. Sometimes, there were blocks of writing that spanned multiple pages; no pictures, no graphs, not even a chart. She had definitely skipped those.

Yet, as her eyes turned back to the map where the battle was being modelled, something seemed to make sense. Maybe it was all the battles she had read about, but the way the blocks were moving, there seemed to have a pattern.

Another messenger arrived and the plot was updated with the shifting and removal of more coloured squares.

There was a pattern! It was... it was like two beasts entwined.

"We should crush their center now," Relm declared confidently. Her eyes went wide when she saw the surprised looks on everyone's face though, was she wrong?

It was Derek, of all people, to speak out first. Perhaps he felt emboldened by his answer's acceptance, or maybe it was because he was picking on her and not the older soldiers. "We'd lose the ability to reinforce our left flank, especially with Forsythe's cavalry bearing down on Fedelis. That's too brutish!"

But Karen chuckled quietly to herself. Her arm rested softly on Relm's shoulder with a light, inviting smile on her face.

"A decade ago, Danielle told me to do the same," she whispered.

Relm blinked in confusion.

"But no, it was imprudent then and it's still imprudent now," Karen's voice rose and she was addressing her staff. "Now we wait."

"For what?" Relm asked.

Karen narrowed her eyes, shielding them from the reflected glare of the sun. Her hair fluttered in the breeze and her frown deepened.

"For our men to do their duty."

---

His sword lifted the soldier clear off of his feet, a fatal gash across his chest spilling blood all over the many segments of his brown leather armor.

"For Justice!" Cyan Garamonde hollered.

His chocobo dashed through the shallows, a trail of mist rising in the air behind him. Alert soldiers had turned towards the unexpected assault from the river only to be greeted by charging wall of cavalry. Many could not even bring their shields to bear before the blows came. Cyan's sword tasted blood with every swing, a different flavour each time but always satisfying.

The river was a deep Imperial crimson.

Lines of men collapsed, formations deteriorated. A few enterprising officers had begun a retreat, but their actions only confused the dying flank of Forsythe's army even more. The artillery of Farin's forces joined in; beams of spiralling infernos following the arcing trajectories of their cousins in war.

Cyan's chocobo dashed through a field of corpses splattered apart by cannonfire and into the enemy. Twin blasts of fire narrowly missed him as the roar of cannons sent smoke and dirt flying into the air. Friendly arrows fell upon them, embedding into his shield and those on foot who had chosen to stand their ground.

This was nothing new.

His chocobo was like a predatory beast, the bird's helmet was splattered with blood and its steel armor had shrugged off more than one arrow. His mount dashed faster and charged headlong at the Magitek Armor that had fired on them; it was as if the bird had a grudge to settle with the pilot.

Cyan felled two more soldiers as he passed, killing them before they killed others. Another managed to bring his shield to bear, but Cyan's blade took the soldier's arm along with the cloven shield. A multitude of fireballs erupted to his right. Arrows flew through the rising flames and thick black smoke, thousands cruising in long lazy arcs that darkened the sky.

Forsythe's ranks were thin, he had been overstretched and unprepared for the assault upon on his right flank. He had made many mistakes and now, there was nowhere for the Maverick's general to run.

Blood splattered across his leather armor and Cyan barely blocked an arrow with his shield. He screamed a deadly cry and threw a javelin, piercing the offending bowman in the chest and sending him flying backwards. Pulling at the reins, his chocobo turned its attention back to the Magitek Armor.

"Abomination," he cursed.

It was nothing more than a shape obscured by smoke and dirt that had been kicked up by thousands upon thousands of exploding shells. It was not the biggest Cyan had ever seen, but there was no time for proper classification. Icy blasts tore into the ground, but Cyan had known they were coming and briskly cleared the deadly shockwave. Still, even with his foresight the force almost threw him off his mount.

Then blue light blasted past his vision, leaving a trail of white snow that Cyan blinked away. One, two, five blasts of ice and fire slammed through the Magitek Armor and tore it apart at the seams. As the arms fell off and the beast teetered on one leg, cannonfire caught it square in the chest and an explosion of flame engulfed the deadly machine. It toppled to the ground and shook the earth.

Cyan's eyes snapped to the victor. The largest of Imperial Magitek Armors, a lumbering beast that was more building than war machine, had its huge cannons pointed in his direction. The pilot within saluted in a gruff manner.

Now that was new. Magitek that was on his side.

Two knights passed him -- Cyan recognized the Captain from before and gave a brusque grunt of acknowledgement. The thousand men that Farin had assigned him had excelled in combat, slaughtering Forsythe's cavalry from the rear while Cyan had taken a small, capable detachment deeper.

He was not alone though. With a brilliant black cape flying behind him, the like-minded General Starson slew two men before turning around for a third. Only two of his personal bodyguards could keep up with his swift chocobo as Farin advanced deeper than was prudent. Four men accosted him, their pikes scaring the mounts as they advanced.

One of Farin's bodyguards fell and the General was exposed. Two more fell to his deadly sword, tendrils of electricity snaking around the bloody blade.

But one had snuck behind him. With a cry of effort, Cyan hurled a javelin. The flying spear cleaved through shield and pierced the enemy through the chest.

The General finished off the remainder, glancing up to discover his saviour was Cyan. He grinned as his bodyguards -- the shaven heads of Donnach and Reinhardt were amongst them -- finally arrived.

"Cyan! I knew you'd be here," Farin shouted as they waited. Every second that passed, another chocobo joined them. "Justice is served today, wouldn't you say?"

"These despicable villains fall before us, but we must strike while the advantageous is ours," Cyan counselled. He noted with a sense of satisfaction that Farin had not hid behind the bulk of his army. The rumours had proven true.

"Your suggestion?"

"Deeper with our fifty chocobos against the cliff, we shall come down behind Forsythe's line."

Farin laughed, but it was filled with bloodlust. "Bold, almost too bold. I like it!" and then he turned to men gathered around him. "Today is the first stroke, one of many in which we will avenge all those fallen to the barbarian! And we, the Eighth Vindicet, shall draw the blood of Forsythe!"

"Glory to the Empire!" the man cheered.

And then they were off.

They charged behind enemy lines, half a century of chocobos unopposed until they caught sight of Forsythe's battlements: broken, smoking, and aflame from the vicious combination of cannonade -- elemental and conventional. Their flags were burning, the tents smouldering, and the fifty men fell upon a score of confused and uncoordinated barbarians.

Cyan almost laughed, such was the feeling of battle in which righteousness was being served. The moral defence of a nation and the crushing of an immoral opponent, there was no doubt in his heart that he was doing the right thing. He would chase out every villain who sought to win through treachery and cowardice, one who slaughtered men, women and children indiscriminately!

Never again would anyone dare to wield poison as their blade.

A bloody mist lingered in the air and Cyan could no longer kept track of all he had fought. Five, ten, fifty, maybe even a hundred opponents had fallen to his blade. They were all faceless and unremarkable, mere extensions of the evil that had occupied Maranda.

And then he was alone atop a small hill, his mount patiently waiting. Fresh blood dripped down the side of his face; he did not remember whose blood it was. He wiped it aside and watched as the enemy burned around him. The thousands of guns of the Empire launched shells into the midst of their foes, a chorus of thunder announcing each vengeful blast of an unforgiving god.

Farin arrived next to him. The General's sword flashed out and the heavens responded with a bolt of lightning.

The two men turned to each other as the sun rose high into the sky. Their bloody capes, his blue, Farin's black, rustled in the wind. Their armour made their statures ever wider and their helmets hid all but their eyes.

Cyan finally understood the purpose of the flamboyant red-crest atop Farin's helmet. He turned away from Farin, and the General away from him. Each had a confident smile upon their face as they waited together in silence.

---

"Their center is collapsing!"

Karen scowled. "I can see for myself," she snapped, her binoculars still held against her eyes.

Relm had been denied the lenses. Even though they were on higher ground and had a good view, she wanted to see more. Those brown and black squares had collided and broke apart, like thousands of ants they swarmed at each other seemingly without pattern. Relm wondered what the battle would look like up close. She wondered what it was like for those soldiers to fight.

The sword at her side was heavy.

Her mind drifted to Strago -- stupid gramps. Quickly, she refocused and wondered if Cyan was in the middle of battle. Of course he was, she decided. Relm glanced at the updated map of the battlefield and tried to guess where he would be. The blocks were entwined with each other now and there were a large number of them gathered near the river. They represented thousands of men each.

Only half a year ago, she would have been stunned silent at the mere existence of such numbers. Now she wanted to be out there amongst the thousands, commanding them, fighting alongside of them... like Cyan was doing. Like he had always done.

Oh how she wished she could see it.

"You want to be out there, don't you?"

Relm blinked rapidly, spacing out in the middle of the battlefield shouldn't have been possible but she had managed it. "I can fight," was her only reply to the powerful General.

Karen smiled and shook her head. "That-"

The closest cannons thundered and suddenly, they were separated by thick black smoke. Relm coughed the moment she inhaled the putrid fumes, they burned her nose something terrible. She gritted her teeth and quickly closed her eyes, they were watering from the stinging smoke. When a gust cleared the nasty stuff away from them, Relm suddenly had a new-found respect for the taste of air.

"Look and tell me what you think," Karen held before Relm's face a pair of binoculars.

Relm took her gift and scrambled atop a conveniently empty table. She mimicked the other Imperials -- Karen chuckling when Relm looked into the wrong side -- and suddenly she was in the middle of the battle.

A man who looked like Locke, his face dirty and beads of sweat dripping from underneath his helmet, was panting on the field. He grunted as he threw a spear, eyes wild as he screamed in effort. His lips formed words that Relm tried to understand.

A blade tore the soldier's face in two.

Relm flinched, barely stifling a cry of horror. She lost the man in the chaos of battle and try as she might, she could not find him.

But there were thousands more like him.

The cannons thundered again and Relm saw men, dozens of them, blown to pieces by exploding shells. Smoke and dirt blocked her view, but Relm was almost glad she couldn't see everything. Shapes screamed voicelessly as fires devoured them. She tried to swallow, but her throat was dry for some inexplicable reason.

Then her sight rested upon the dark, hulking menace that was the Imperial Magitek Armor. Like a man hunched over, it staggered towards her covered by a shadowy veil, pinpoint specks of light flaring into blasts of brilliant magical energy.

She lowered the binoculars, recalling those same monsters storming her home.

Grandpa.

"Well?"

Karen was waiting impatiently. Relm didn't know why, but she just stared back at the General dumbfounded.

"I asked a question: what do you think?"

Grandpa... Relm gazed down at her feet. She kicked at the dirt. Cold sweat was already running down her back.

Karen turned away to address her staff.

"Engage the right flank," Relm's voice quivered, but it was filled with determination. Karen would not walk away from her, not until she had told the Imperial General what was on her mind! "With a single blow you'll break the enemy!"

She would fight the Plague, just like her grandfather.

"A bold idea," was the blunt response.

Karen spun on her heels. "General signal: Advance upon the enemy," hers was the voice of god. "Have the 6th and 14th merge by battalion and fall back to support the 10th, all Brigadiers will coordinate strictly by the book. Any mistakes and I swear I'll decimate their command regardless of the outcome!"

Karen's general staff was now a maelstrom of activity, aides running all around her as flags were raised and messengers were sent. All the while, cannonade thundered across the Plains of Callaghan. Men died every second, stabbed, blown to pieces, or consumed by blasts of magic.

Relm stood beside Karen and watched it all.

The books her grandfather had given her, they didn't describe war this way. From their distant vantage point, Relm saw the same scene repeated over and over again. There was no thrill to this battle; no knights in shining armor.

Her mind's eye recalled Cyan's gallant image, saving her from Imperial soldiers deep within the mountainside. For some reason, the scene was more vivid this time. Details came to life: the chill of the winter air, the scent of blood, the reflected light in drops of sweat, the screams of the dying. The spray of spittle from Cyan's mouth as he charged to save her.

The fear in his eyes.

A hand suddenly grasped her shoulder. Relm was shocked to discover that she had been shaking.

"It is terrible, is it not?"

Relm could only manage a nod.

Karen squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. "Maybe you are too young to start. I know I was."

Relm was speechless.

"But..." Karen trailed off. "Do you still want to study, Relm?"

_Just like Grandfather._

Relm nodded.

"Very well. You have some keen insight, it's no wonder General Starson sought a tutor for your talents," Karen smiled and let go of her shoulder lightly.

Relm watched the battle continue in a silent stupor. Time passed by quickly and if Strago or Cyan were told how long she stayed quiet, they never have believed it. News came and went: General Starson had crossed the river, the 9th had routed their opponents, Forsythe's right flank was collapsing, and that the enemy had retreated into his burning fortifications and sued for peace. But everything seemed dull to her.

It was Karen who finally snapped her out of her solitude. "I want my chocobo readied and the Major alerted," the lady General declared. "We're joining the melee."

Relm glanced back to the models in confusion. "Why are you going out to fight?" she asked, keeping an eye on the battlefield.

Derek, who had seemed jealous by how much attention Karen was giving Relm, lashed out. "It should be obvious: the battle's not over and this battalion consists entirely of fresh troops. We'll join for a final push that breaks Forsythe's last-ditch defence."

Irritated by the way he spoke, Relm drew on a deep font of hidden strength. "Don't be stupid," she snapped. "There's no need to risk catching the Plague, we've already won!"

Karen stepped between her apprentices. Her dark cape cascaded down her armour, covering the sword she had just put on. She turned her back to Relm. "That's quite enough Derek. You should take a long, hard look at your study habits. You could learn a lot from Relm."

Victorious, Relm stuck out her tongue.

Karen turned around and Relm quickly acted as innocent as possible.

"-no matter how imprudent she is," Karen declared to Relm's dismay. However, Karen lowered to one knee and put a reassuring hand on Relm's shoulder. "You did well today, but you still have a lot to learn from me," she said with a wink.

Her bodyguards had arrived, their bulk making the General look tiny in comparison. Still, Karen took her red-crested helmet from the two and fitted it to her head. With one last glance at the two children, she turned back to the smoke and debris that marked the camp of their enemy. A thundering crescendo of cannonfire seemed to declare her intent to join the front.

"Let's move," Karen ordered as the blue caped Major and a dozen chocobo-mounted knights took formation beside her. The sun was high in the sky. "It's time to finish this battle."

---

As the Imperial Armed Forces prepared for the final blow against Forysthe and his army, Edgar's face was mashed against a wooden table. The smell of alcohol wafted into his kingly senses. His face twisted at an odd angle and he bolted upright. The sheets upon his bed were fresh, clean and untouched. Beside it, a clock was ringing; it was noon.

He had fallen asleep.

Blinking away the grogginess, he grabbed a cloak to hide from the glare of the sun. Exiting Bill's empty establishment, he was surprised to see Arvis waiting just outside. A bead of sweat ran down the older man's face.

"Sorry about that," Edgar excused himself. Nodding gruffly at the two Figarian soldiers that stood guard, he quickly pulled on his hood. "Aren't you hot?"

"It's nice to sweat for once."

Edgar rolled his eyes. "Can't say I understand you Northerners."

The two men strolled to the outskirts of Halstead, trailed by their bodyguards. There, Imperial manpower was conspicuously missing. Instead, only Figarians were visible as they prepared a carriage in one of the local stables. Most of the men saluted or bowed to Edgar, but others were so busy with the chocobos that they could only nod respectfully in the presence of their King.

The commander of his personal guard stood stoically in the sun. There was not a trace of sweat upon his face, despite the heat of the sun and the deep blue garb he wore.

"Major," Edgar ignored the crisp salute. "Is everything ready?"

"Of course, my King. Also, Admiral Pellyn sends his regards, but it is Admiral Amedeo who is waiting in the bay."

"Amedeo?" Edgar knew that name. He pursed his lips. "Just as well, Pellyn would probably disregard the ploy. Amedeo would jump for the chance."

"Are you sure you want to go through with this, Edgar?" Arvis asked.

Edgar let loose a deep sigh. They were safe here, protected by his finest and most loyal of men. Here, he could speak his mind freely and not worry about spies.

"I've thought this through many times... and my conscience can't bare further inaction. Arvis, I'm counting on you."

"Don't worry about me, I'm not much more than a messenger," Arvis patted his chest, where Edgar assumed a secret pocket was hidden behind the fashions of Narshe. "Let's hope this Admiral Amedeo will follow your written orders."

"I would love to speak with Amedeo myself, but my presence here is essential. I'm not sure how convinced they are that you must return home to discuss the new political arrangements."

"It's the truth," Arvis pointed out. "The Elder may not be happy with the new Empress."

"He'll be happy so long as there's peace in Narshe," Edgar growled.

"Perhaps, but the cost might wound his pride. Anyhow, the sun is already high in the sky. I suppose this is where we part, King Edgar," Arvis bowed slightly. "It was an honour, as always."

Edgar shook his head. "I owe you greatly for doing this, my friend."

Arvis' smile was devoid of any joy.

"Let's hope you've done the right thing. This is a dangerous game we're playing."

---

They dismounted in the midst of thousands of Imperial soldiers, many covered with blood and gore. The ground laid beneath a blanket of corpses and clouds of smoke darkened the skies overhead. A rain of white ash fell down upon them, thin flakes fluttering softly through the air. In the background, Forsythe's battlements burned.

Farin raised his blade.

A cheer erupted throughout the ranks, cries of victory and shouts of joy. They raised their weapons and saluted.

"For General Starson!" one particularly bold commander shouted above the rest.

That sentiment echoed through the ranks of the Third Imperial Army. They cheered on their victorious general, louder than the cannons that had won them such a victory.

Farin removed his helmet, his face visible to the thousands surrounding them. Blood and dirt were mashed in lines across his face, but there was a smile beneath all that grime.

"For our Empress, for Vector, and for the Empire!" he hollered.

"The Empire!" the thousands thundered.

Cyan folded his arms and watched as the victors basked in their glory. He did not join in the celebration, but did return the gratitude of the men that passed by. He stood near Farin's closest circle -- Reinhardt, Donnach, and several of the decorated men that had been recently transferred to his command.

"I can't believe it. You would be Garamonde."

A familiar face: he was short and perhaps a little on the thin side for a soldier. His leather armor was also clean of grime and gore, so Cyan knew at once that this man was a pilot. A flash of insight came to him.

"Thank you for saving my life," Cyan offered his hand.

The Imperial pilot looked down at Cyan's outstretched arm, eyes wide in disbelief. He had a silly grin on his face. "You know, all I can think of right now is how absurd this is. I can barely stop myself from addressing you as the Relentless."

But the gruff soldier took Cyan's hand strongly. "I'm Captain Waldgrave," he offered.

"Godric," Cyan made the connection.

"So you've heard of me? I guess after Third Reddenhurst, it was bound to happen."

This was the man that had almost caught them in Nestil, forced them to send Sabin away and had been a shadow that they had feared for weeks. And now, this man -- a Magitek Pilot of all people -- had saved his life.

Absurdity did not adequately describe the situation; Cyan could not hold back his laughter. "The day is full of surprises!" He slapped the pilot on the back and laughed away the tension and stress.

Godric coughed, recovering from Cyan's strong blow. His seriousness faded away though and he joined an unlikely partner in an equally unlikely laugh.

In the background, Forsythe and thirty-thousand corpses burned.

---

The Battle of Third Callaghan was over. Of course the Empire had won, and by an overwhelming margin at that.

Locke shook his head. He had read the report and while it was supposed to be good news for everyone, it was not for him. Time was running short for the Guild and its fanatical mages. With the destruction of General Forsythe and his forces, the back of the Maverick's army was broken.

Oakham had fallen as well, encircled as the city was by Brigadier Falkland and his 17th Division. The Empire was on the march and in its wake, her enemies burned in mass graves.

Locke had discovered that the Maverick's last true army, all veterans of the Maranda War years ago as well as the Civil War, had been marching to Callaghan when Forsythe fell. Karen had succeeded in preventing the Maverick from joining his veterans into a single, cohesive force. Now the greatest conventional impediment to the Empire's total victory was camped out in the Plains of Incledon, blockading any entry into the Marandan heartland. As for the warlord himself, the Maverick was doing all he could to recover. News had spread quickly that armies were being raised in Sutton and Maranda.

But it was the unconventional that was the greatest danger. They could not find the Guild's leadership -- not even a name! -- and her members were just as difficult to locate. They had left their mark on many villages, that was for sure, but they had vanished from the memories of many. Considering the pace of the Empire's advance, Locke knew it was only a matter of time before those mages got desperate.

He dared not imagine what the fanatics would do when pressed against the wall. That was what nightmares were for.

"Not a single lead," Locke muttered as he glanced around the occupied village.

The Inquisition's efforts were redoubled. Orders from Norris were to capture any Guild Member at any cost. Their efforts had led to this small village on the coast and the moment it had been feasible, they stormed in. Locke should have been nervous -- they were close to Sutton -- but in light of the Plague, mere armies that stretched beyond the horizon didn't seem to be that big of a deal. For all they knew, they were the walking dead.

They had to find the Guild's headquarters before it was too late.

"High Inquisitor," one of the men under his command gestured.

Locke followed the Inquisitor into a mansion they had taken over. A number of the bounded villagers knelt on the ground. They remained tight-lipped despite their obvious connections to the Guild.

"Still unwilling to talk?" Locke asked once more. The silence didn't surprise him, but it was disappointing. "We know the Guild was here, your own people were abused and tortured. We can protect you from them. There's no reason not to help us."

This village had been visited by several Guild Members and the fanatical mages had stayed here for weeks. Many of the people were scarred in disturbing fashions; Locke's stomach turned whenever he saw their gaunt, thin bodies and wide-eyed stares filled with eternal horror. They should have received their pity, but instead Locke had to mark them as Shrouded.

That there were some who conspired against their own people...

"Fine, we don't have time for this anymore! Take him and him, her too," Locke pointed at the ones that looked important to him; the ones that would likely have had meaningful contact. Perhaps they had been an official or a business owner, but no matter what they were or how far they had fallen, Locke could still pick them out of the crowd.

"What about him?" the Inquisitor gestured at a young man with one arm.

Locke judged the teenager for a while. "Yeah," he answered at last, somewhat reluctantly. His gut told him that the well-fed teenager might know something.

"We should take that one too."

The Inquisitor pointed at a boy, no more than ten years in age. He hid behind the skirts of his mother, the woman who Locke had just picked out.

"No," he hissed through gritted teeth. "Not him."

"Sir, even if he doesn't know anything, we might need him as leverage-"

"I said no!" Locke growled. His eyes burned with rage. "Do you understand me, Inquisitor? Not the boy!"

"As you command, High Inquisitor sir."

Locke left the house and with a cry of frustration, pounded the supports of the awning above him. The thin cloth swayed from side to side as he punched the wood, grunting with each impact. Dust and dirt fell until his hands, wrapped in tough leather gloves, complained about their mistreatment. He gasped for air and wiped at the beads of sweet that ran down the sides of his face.

"Damn the Guild," he whispered underneath his breath.

Locke stormed back to their campsite, outside the village for security reasons. Only two men were there, the rest were keeping an eye on the town.

"High Inquisitor Locke," one stood up as Locke approached. "We've got a message."

The men were always uneasy around the glowing green globe that was their source of news to the outside world. Locke was surprised by their reaction; men of the Empire rarely blinked twice when they saw magic. As a result, he had to ensure his own abilities were a secret; he preferred if the Inquisitors he commanded did not feel the same way towards him as they did towards the Guild.

Reaching into the soft, yielding surface of the green ball, Locke gestured according to the instructions he had memorized and slowly retrieved a small piece of paper from it. Norris had gone without sleep for a day or two creating these; only the most important and trustworthy teams had been given them.

The writing was small, barely legible if Locke hadn't had so much experience with Norris. Apparently, the Inquisition had already slipped into Pierpoint and discovered some terrifying things. Norris didn't have the room for details, but explicitly told Locke to head south and await his arrival. Norris was short on men after sending several teams north.

Locke's eyes narrowed. Norris was sending forces north? That was further away from Maranda, away from anything that mattered.

What could be worthwhile north of Pierpoint?

---

His eyes snapped open. He bolted upright, covered in a sheen of sweat despite his nakedness. His breaths came in ragged gasps, his heart pounded so quickly that a headache of epic proportions threatened to overwhelm him once more.

"Not again," he whispered.

The candle next to his modest mattress was almost burned down. He had forgotten to extinguish the wick... again. Judging by the melted wax, he guessed it was still a few hours before dawn.

Well, he wasn't getting back to sleep this night.

He grabbed a convenient towel and wiped his face of all the sweat and grime. He tossed the soaked cloth aside and picked up one of the few clean shirts he still had. Alert eyes wandered across the walls of the little shack he called home.

At the geometric patterns that spiralled all over the walls.

His eyes averted in embarrassment, only then realizing that his right hand had fallen to his side and was tracing circles on the sweat-soaked sheets of his bed.

"Dammit!" he cried out, whipping his shirt at the wall in frustration. His calm breathing sped up again as blood rushed into his head. He gripped his rebellious hand and glared at it, willing it to be still.

"Sabin!"

Sabin Roni Figaro turned to the intruder that stormed through the thin wooden door of his home. Her red ponytail whipped around her neck as she skidded to a halt.

"Trouble," Siana Deardon gasped.

Sabin grabbed a shirt out of the nearest, dirty pile and pulled it on. "What's wrong?" he asked in a cocky manner. "Did Ben hurt himself again tripping over the-"

"South," Siana interrupted. "Intruders are coming from the south."

Sabin's smile vanished. "Are you bringing in the garbage again?"

"This isn't the time for games," Siana snapped. "They're good, I barely noticed them pass. Definitely elite troops, probably former ISF."

"We're in trouble," he deduced from the wrinkles on her face.

Siana nodded. "That's an understatement."

Sabin grabbed what weapons he had lying around. Armor was not going to help them, not the way they were going to fight. However, this was the first time Siana had sounded scared of advancing Imperials. In half a year and over a dozen fights, not once had Siana ever complimented intruders. Hers was always a professional opinion, one that had proven reliable and fail-safe.

"We've dealt with plenty of infantry, those two magic-less buffoons that pretended to be Guild Members, and even a Magitek Armor the last time," Sabin growled. "It's been months since any further incursions, why start again?" he mumbled in frustration. He hoped the lull would not be their undoing.

Siana tapped her feet impatiently as a belt of knives went around Sabin's waist. He fitted his brass knuckles carefully. "So what's our chances?"

"Bad, and getting worse with every minute. These guys already found some of the traps, and probably the decaying corpses at the bottom of the valley."

"We better move."

The two dashed out of his home and away from Dorset.

---

Siana was right, but Sabin had not expected any errors from her. The Imperials who were advancing were not just good, they were excellent. Like shadows, they passed through the thick underbrush with hardly a scratch on their arms. Had Sabin not have spent so many months in these woods, he doubted that he could have kept up with these men. They were professionals trained in the art of infiltration.

They had never faced anything like this.

Sabin motioned to Siana, telling her to keep the others silent. Without surprise, the unofficial militia of Dorset had no chance against men like these: warriors trained to kill from a young age. Sabin could probably deal with them in single combat, but soldiers worked in teams to their advantage.

This was very bad.

Their only chance would be a dangerous, rocky pass that was the only safe route down into the valley. It was narrow, offered little cover, and the fall was fatal.

Sabin was hidden underneath leaves and dirt, as still as a corpse. The Imperials would pass by him and when he judged the timing was right, he'd give the signal and a deadly rock-slide would wipe out these soldiers.

Unfortunately, the enemy had split up and sent two ahead to scout the treacherous descent. Apparently wise to the dangers of passage, these men were taking no chances. This was almost their worst-case scenario: they had to wait until the two scouts declared the descent safe. Then when the remainder of the group ventured down, the militia would have to deal with those two while the rock-slide killed the rest.

It was a good plan except for one, little problem. When the scouts signalled, only half the enemy made their way down the cliffs.

Now it was the worst-case scenario.

Siana had feared this from the beginning. The former-pilot knew that if the Imperials were smart enough to follow such precautions, they had no choice but to kill the ones descending while ambushing the ones left at the top. That was what she, a few of the stronger men of Dorset, and Sabin prepared for.

The timing would have to be perfect. The moment the rocks began to fall, they would have to strike. Otherwise, those at the top would alert their comrades descending.

A drop of sweat ran down Sabin's cheek. His fingers traced inexplicable patterns into the dirt.

No!

Two men detached from the group at the top. They were moving towards the point where the hidden boulders were.

This was really bad.

He moved without thinking, rising from his hidden spot like an earthen monster. Dirt and leaves fell off of him noiselessly as Sabin stalked towards the two men. The taller one was in front, he looked to be a leader. The one behind seemed paranoid. Sabin fought the urge to crack his knuckles as he advanced within spitting distance, hiding behind a thick tree trunk as one of the men glanced back.

Now.

His fist connected with the nearest, a forceful blow to the stomach that dropped the man with little noise. Sabin charged over the fallen and pulled out his knife.

click

Sabin halted in his tracks. He could feel the eyes of another man behind him.

There had been three, not two.

He had still been four steps away from the tall man in the lead, who turned around with what seemed to be a look of admiration. An axe was held out and ready, his one-eyed visage evidence of his warrior status. He wore a plain cloak that was the shade of the forest, only a single symbol above his heart marred his camouflage. It was a white octagon with the Imperial Emblem painted in red. From a distance, it looked like dripping blood.

"You don't look like one of them," he announced simply.

Sabin didn't know what the one-eyed man was talking about, but stood tall and awaited the killing shot from the crossbow behind him.

"You're not Guild, are you? You're protecting the village in valley," he continued to muse.

There had been enough oddities today that Sabin suddenly made the connection. The elite nature of the men -- without a single one that looked like a Guild Member or displaying the traits of a Magitek Knight -- and the way they moved, acted, and responded to any perceived threat.

"You're hunting them," Sabin whispered.

The one-eyed man dropped his axe slightly.

"Lower your weapon, soldier."

Siana's hiss was like that of a cobra. It carried in the moist forest air, clearly coming from behind the man with the crossbow.

The one-eyed man's single eye flickered towards his ally in the bush. It was a chance that Sabin could have taken, a quick strike to the throat and his opponent would be down. Their plan would continue and hopefully, they could protect Dorset without too many deaths.

But instead, he took a chance.

"I am protecting the village," Sabin acknowledged. "And who are you?"

The one-eyed man's attention returned to Sabin. The half-smile on his face was definitely one of admiration. "Military training," he noted. "Well, it seems like you have the upper-hand for now. In hopes of avoiding bloodshed, might I suggest we all lower our weapons? You might have the advantage, but your plan with the rocks won't work. The village would suffer if any of my men were to fall."

Sabin gritted his teeth. He had chosen to risk it all. "Let go of him," he said to Siana, deliberately leaving out her name.

A grunt of frustration -- she probably didn't like his decision -- and then something happened that made the one-eyed man nod in approval.

"I think it's unlikely the Guild managed to come here, given those rather... fortunate acts of nature," the one-eyed man continued. "I think we're friends."

"And why is that, Imperial?"

"Because I am High Inquisitor Miles of the Imperial Inquisition. Our group has been hunting those affiliated with the Guild at the command of the Empress Danielle. So we have a common enemy, man of Dorset, and that makes us friends."

---

"-and the Inquisition has been active in pursuing any possible connection to the Guild. So far, we believe that they have yet to cross the ocean and spread the damned Plague, but we cannot be sure."

Twelve heads today, one more than yesterday. Edgar's tally had gone up again as yet another messenger was murdered.

"It would be best if we coordinated our efforts," Danielle levelled an unnerving look at Edgar. "We need to restrict ocean travel."

Edgar sighed. He had to focus. "These pirates, what would they gain by making such a crossing?"

"Petty criminals do not concern me," Danielle tapped the desk for dramatic effect. "The lawless brigands have been crushed once more and what remains is unlikely capable of the crossing."

"Then why have your vessels so far north in our waters?" Edgar countered. "What we need to do is to tighten our grip on the Guild and keep them isolated. That's why I offered you my ships and that's what they're doing now: ensuring the Maverick does not escape."

That was not all they were doing, but Edgar left that unsaid.

"We do not know the intentions of fanatics," Danielle admitted. "But the threat that still exists is not directed towards the Empire, they cannot pass into the east. It is reasonable to assume that they will seek refuge and there are many places in the north where they could hide."

Edgar agreed reluctantly. He could see where this was going.

"The fanatics must be completely destroyed. Our forces will pursue them wherever they flee, even within your country."

"That would be infringing on our sov-"

"Edgar, enough," the Empress snapped. Today, Danielle seemed unusually impatient. "We are either allies or not. I am not suggesting that my armies will establish a permanent presence, nor even independent movement through your kingdom. I am asking for us to work as partners, not just here, but wherever the enemy hides."

Despite knowing Danielle's loathing of equivocation, Edgar was out of choices. Until more facts arrived and he was sure that this alliance was not in error, he had to delay. Until he was sure the Empire would not turn around and stab them in the back once its borders were secure, he would only commit the absolute minimum. He had to do everything in his power to assure the safety of his people.

"That's quite reasonable, but I am unwilling to commit until Arvis returns. There is more to the northern continent than just Figaro," Edgar pointed out reasonably. It had barely been a week since Arvis had left. That gave him over two months of excuses.

"Then wait, King Edgar," Danielle lowered her arms. "Wait and pray that when the Plague strikes the north, I am still willing to commit my men to die for a foreign cause. Perhaps I might send a token force of ships -- say... two divisions -- and keep my own people out of danger while maintaining our relations."

Blunt and brutal; Edgar knew this was a dangerous game he was playing. He could feel everything and everyone slipping away from him. Events were moving at a brisk pace, like a tide that was dragging him out to sea. Cyan and Strago had both abandoned him, each risking their lives and fighting the Plague in their own manner. Terra's commitment made theirs' seem pitiful and with her was Locke. Everyone else had already decided the path they would follow. Edgar was alone.

Alone to barter, to scheme, to decide the fate of the world.

"Perhaps we could work on a more detailed agreement, outlining a path to guide our nations through this crisis and become closer friends," his words took on a meek quality. Let her believe she had the upper-hand. Edgar needed time to think and regain a grasp on the situation. If the price was his pride and dignity, well so be it.

"That's interesting, a plan towards mutually beneficial goals. But I wonder, what would do you see at the end of this road, King Edgar?"

"As closer allies, I believe a day will come when we leaders would meet as friends, advising instead of negotiating. It would be the same for any of our subjects; there would be no apprehension when speaking to someone of another continent."

Danielle smiled. "That is a... peaceful vision."

"What do you see, Empress?" Edgar responded in kind, asking her to define an abstract term.

"I see the same as you, but more," Danielle gestured around them. "I see our military working together, soldiers eating with one another at a common table. I see us agreeing upon necessary courses of action, debating as peers joined in a common cause to secure our nations' safety."

Edgar mentally frowned; to her, even the notion of peace was seen in such a martial light.

"I see our people trading with one another: food, drink, books, art, workmanship... all manner of thought, freely exchanged and encouraged."

... and military technology, Edgar realized. Suddenly, everything became clear.

Danielle knew, or at least, suspected that they had developed something to counter the Empire. Certainly secrets could not be kept forever, not when Figaro commanded ships that could sail beneath the seas. And as time continued to pass, the probability that she would find about their submersibles would grow. It was inevitable.

This was an even more dangerous game than he had possibly imagined.

"For now, that is certainly a dream. But with some forethought and planning, such friendship might be achievable," Edgar remained calm and diplomatic despite the frantic churning of emotions. His mind ran wild with possible scenarios. He feared that Figaro's secrets would be laid bare and they defenceless against the vast might of the Empire.

Could Danielle know about their ships? Or worse, did she suspect what Narshe had created? They had managed to keep their finest invention a secret for so long! Only against Magitek Armors had it been used in desperation, and those pilots were dead and Terra's mind a haze.

"I propose a break, I am sure you have much to attend to," Edgar finished.

"Until tomorrow," Danielle agreed. "Lunch as always?"

Edgar wiped his lips and stood. "Of course. A pleasure, as always, and my compliments to your chef."

Baldric was already standing by the entrance, stepping aside in order to allow Edgar through. The King of Figaro paused outside as the flaps to Danielle's tent closed. He took a deep sigh.

Alone.

Edgar had known since he had been a child that his future was going to be a great challenge. He knew his responsibilities; never once had he questioned the path he walked. Everything fell upon his shoulders ever since his father fell ill. He had his duty... and he would not shirk from it.

"Sabin," Edgar muttered. He hoped the best for his brother.

"Unacceptable!"

With reserved surprise, Edgar realized that he was still alone. Baldric had not led him outside and past many bodyguards that protected the Empress. Instead, Edgar was left unguarded before Danielle's tent. This had never happened before.

Voices were coming out of the Empress' tent; there was little more than a thin weatherproof cloth between them. Edgar's ears perked up and against his better judgement, he decided to listen. With an uneasy eye kept on the entranceway, he strained the limits of his senses.

"Please, Empress," it was Baldric's deep voice pleading with Danielle.

"You know what happened to 7th," Danielle snapped. "There is no recourse! If the outbreak cannot be stopped, they will be decontaminated the only way we know how!"

"The army was aware of such risks when they fought, and I am aware of the same."

"You are not fighting," Danielle was irritated. Edgar could tell her composure was broken, her voice shook in a way that he had never heard before and her speech patterns were breaking down. "You're throwing your life away."

"I ask very little, Empress. All I desire is a week of time-"

"To travel to Mansfield and die," Danielle growled.

"The outbreak there is not so bad."

"It isn't contained!" Danielle's anger was unrestrained. "We can't contain it, you big fool! We're strained enough as is trying to keep the provinces from infection. I actually had to assign soldiers too green to pacify monsters to the recent outbreaks in Mansfield and Ethelben, there's no one left!"

"Empress, I will not let my nephew remain alone."

"You can't come back," Danielle snapped.

"Then I will not. But with my sister dying, Tyler has no one. You remember Tyler, don't you? He has curly brown hair and loves to tinker-"

"Baldric, please," Danielle reasoned. "If he's all that remains of your family, fine. I'll send Inquisitors to retrieve him. After the quarantine, you can go meet him. I'll give you as long as you need then."

"He needs his family now. His mother is dying. I must be with them."

There was silence, a long period in which Edgar thought he might have been discovered. But then Danielle's voice returned.

It was nothing more than a wretched, raspy whisper.

"I don't want to see you die too, Baldric. I've lost so many..."

"I have been but a ring of steel around you, my Empress," Baldric remained composed. "I have always been willing to sacrifice myself for your sake. Ten years, I have devoted myself to your service without reservation. Please, let me help my family. Tyler is all that's left."

One by one, the hollow sound of her finger tapping lightly against the desk dispersed through the thick silence.

"Granted," she whispered hoarsely.

"Thank you, my Empress. It has been an honour."

The sound of slow, heavy steps could be heard approaching.

And Edgar hurried away, his feet taking him as fast as they could. His back was slick with sweat despite the cool air. His heart was pounding faster than his legs moved, but not because he feared he would be seen.

He could not bare to look up, to even acknowledge the presence of Imperial soldiers. He just wanted to run away.

---

It stank in Vector. The high-heat of summer was bad enough, but when mixed with stench of rotting corpses, it created something truly nauseating. The air felt thick, so moist that it stuck to the flesh and even with the coarse soap provided by the Imperial Army, required multiple scrubbings to wash away.

It wasn't hell -- Strago had lived too long to so easily label any situation the terror of terrors -- but his heart ached and his stomach turned.

Imperial Guardsmen, still wearing their black-trimmed brown leather, were well-prepared with lances and shields. Ten men protected Strago as he prowled the streets of Vector, their demeanour enough to scare people away during peaceful times. In desperate days such as these, only the truly deranged gave them a second glance.

Strago heard soft sobs coming from one of the buildings on the side of the road, the doors themselves barricaded so that nothing -- hopefully not the Plague -- would enter. Many had smartly stayed indoors, isolating themselves from all but their closest loved ones.

It didn't help.

The Plague struck at a whim, killing entire families in one room but leaving their neighbours totally untouched. In some cases, entire buildings were full of the symptomatic, while others who had nursed the dying remained healthy for weeks. Strago remembered a family of six, everyone had been in the advanced stages except for the grandfather. A frail, old man whose life was at risk from the common cold, and he had to watch everyone he ever loved die before him.

Strago wept every night.

The riots had calmed down, not because the people had finally respected the wishes of their imprisoners. The army still treated anyone in Vector as an enemy; their battlements encircled the capital without fail. Everyone knew about the Principate Slaughter -- how their own army had turned Magitek Armors on an innocent and unarmed crowd. They detested the Imperial Army and given a good chance, would probably kill in order to escape Vector.

No, there was emotion enough to incite a riot. It was the lack of instigators that prevented this. Those who had spoken the loudest, swayed the crowds to their will and sent people against their former-protectors, it was they who had fallen to the Plague the quickest. People were deathly afraid of speaking out -- the Plague struck those who gathered crowds and spoke ill of the world.

Strago gave a half-hearted nod to the men guarding the Imperial Gates. Failure again, as it always. They had nothing to go on. The books -- if they even had analogous situations! -- were cryptic and rarely contained anything of substance. Everything the labs had tried, magical or not, had no effect. They were powerless.

One of the head scientists was waiting for Strago. There was not even hope on the man's face, apprehension gave way to resignation the moment Strago shook his head.

"Were there any abnormalities at least?" the scientist asked as he fell into step beside Strago.

"The children were further along," Strago answered darkly as he strolled through the halls of the Imperial Palace. His feet carried him at a brisk pace; the only thing keeping him going was force of habit. Children were dying. Kids! How could anyone have created such a horrible thing?

"You'd think that with these statistics, that the Plague is weakening and be more susceptible to our remedies," mumbled the frustrated scientist. "I thought it was a blessing."

"Yes, a blessing," Strago growled. "And if by blessing, you mean prolonging the pain before a gruesome death, then I might agree with you."

The Plague had changed. People were living longer once symptomatic, commonly surviving two weeks. Some had survived a month, outliving many that came down with the Plague after they did. The scientists were fearful that epidemic was changing in order to resist a cure; that their efforts were doomed to failure from the beginning.

So far, that seemed to be the case.

"I'll go over the data again. I doubt anything will change though," the scientist added under his breath.

"Yeah, go ahead," Strago sighed. He rubbed his eyes, tired from the day. Anytime he went out to observe and monitor those given treatments, he came back with a profound sense of mortality. It grew day by day, a pit of despair and fear that they might never find a cure.

That the Plague would consume all of civilization -- another apocalypse only a thousand years after the last.

Terra was on her balcony again, one that overlooked Vector from the high towers of the Imperial Palace. She was by her lonesome but as always, carried a single dagger for protection. Strago thought the weapon was a tad small and given the yellow gemstone on its handle, probably nothing more than decoration. That didn't mean Terra was unarmed though, far from it. If her magic was not enough to give a man pause, her shadowy protectors -- Imperial Guardsmen of the elitist nature -- were always close by.

She gazed over the Imperial Capital, resting her head in her hands while leaning upon the guard-rails. A thin red coat was wrapped around her upper-body, it was always there no matter what the weather was like. Her long grey hair fluttered freely in the wind. There was a hard look in her eyes and she was muttering to herself.

"Again, nothing changes," Strago reported gravely.

Terra straightened. A book had been held open by her elbows, one that she quickly set aside face-down. "I'm sorry," was her only response.

What intuition she had was apparently not enough to overcome this menace. Her power to heal did not even delay the inevitable. Strago studied Terra's haunted look, the hopelessness within deepening as he did so.

How could she not know what to do? Was she not the daughter of an Esper? Was she not a creature of magic incarnate and sensitive to the fabric of reality itself? She had mastered spells he had never known existed, understood principles that he could never grasp without seeing them in practice. She had lead them to victory over those who had sought to control the Gods themselves, against odds that were surely astronomical...

If she did not know how to fight the Plague, what hope did he have?

"What about the books? Have there been any further hints?" Terra's half-hearted questions snapped Strago out of his brooding silence.

"None," Strago answered.

"Certainly something has to be there, we haven't covered even a quarter of all them," Terra pointed out. Though her words carried hope, there was none to be found in her despondent voice.

It annoyed Strago for some reason. "The books are worthless!" he snapped. "Inaccurate history with nothing resembling facts, they're more of a collection of stories and legends passed down the ages by half-wits barely capable of literacy! Oh the great Odin and his retinue's wondrous disappearing act," Strago's voice dripped with sarcasm. "We don't need anymore ballads about battles fought millennia past, and I swear I'll burn the next book that gives me a fifty-page poem about the beauty of deities!"

Terra lowered her head. "I understand how difficult it is... most of my books also cover the same subjects, written about the cause of war and what must be done to ensure it never happens again. The War of the Magi was the culmination of many foolhardy mistakes rather than a single root cause. It seems they wanted us, their descendants, to avoid their mistakes."

"Well, all they managed to do was to bind worthless piles of paper together," Strago grumbled. "Nothing useful has been found in the books."

"Not for combating the Plague," Terra agreed. She gestured at the blue book she was just reading. "They do give insight into other things though. We know the origins of those great beasts, the flying green skull and its kin, and we have an idea of how to deal with them permanently. If they return, countermeasures are in place to destroy these monsters bred for war. Our future is secure."

"If one exists," Strago grumbled. "The dead are piling up and our quarantines have only delayed the spread of infection. Forget about those monsters -- no one's seen them for months anyways!" he added beneath his breath. "There's no indication we'll ever stop this Plague!"

Terra's hands dropped. "You don't really believe that, do you?"

"Do you believe otherwise?" Strago replied.

"Of course," Terra answered. She turned back to Vector. "I have a destiny," she declared.

Strago furrowed his brow.

Terra closed her eyes and took a deep breath, as if it was as fresh as the spring breeze instead of the putrid, death-soaked fog that choked Vector. "I've made promises," she whispered to the heavens.

Strago was exhausted. "Terra, we're friends, are we not?"

"We are."

"Then forgive me for asking, because no one else dares... but we need you in the labs with us. Your responsibilities as the First Citizen, they're too much. Some days, I don't even see you while we slave away improving yet another antidote. We need your guidance."

"I can't leave the Empire alone, not at this crucial time. It's during this crisis that the greatest challenges arise, the ones that could fragment what administration remains and turn generals into warlords."

"Terra, we can't find a cure," Strago said pointedly. "We don't even know where to begin! Everything -- everything! -- has failed."

"You have the best minds in the world. The best facilities and what resources there are, they're yours."

"But we need you," Strago begged. "We need your undivided attention."

"I can't give you that."

That she did not even consider his request, it infuriated him. "You would ignore the plight of the suffering, of the hundreds dying in Vector each day? Of the thousands throughout the Empire? For what, shuffling pieces of papers around?"

"Strago..." Terra warned with a low growl.

"You work daily to maintain power over the living dead," Strago snapped. "Go ahead! Keep writing your letters and conversing with nobility. Before you know it, this will be an Empire of corpses!"

When he had first met her, Terra would have been too shy to respond to such an insulting remark. When he had met her again, just a few weeks ago, she would have snapped back with the fury of a blazing fire.

Now, she folded her arms calmly and mused over his words.

"Strago," Terra answered at last. "I've lied to you. I don't spend my days maintaining relations with the House of Lords, and I've only given a cursory glance at edicts for the outer provinces. Despite what you think, I'm doing my best to save everyone."

"You're working on a cure without me?" Strago supposed he should have been insulted by being left out of her inner circle, but instead he felt just the slightest bit of hope.

"It's perspective," Terra answered. "Going into Vector everyday, I can see why you're so upset. But you have to remember that what you see is only part of the story. Devoting all our efforts into a cure for this Plague is a short-sighted response."

_This_ Plague; the intonation left no room for other interpretations. "You mean there are more?" Strago whispered dreadfully. A shiver travelled down his spine as he already knew the answer. Terra's intuition on this matter was unlikely wrong, and her command over the Imperial network could not be discounted.

"Almost certainly," Terra acknowledged. "I've faced the Guild more than once and I tell you: the fanatics never rest. They'll keep improving what they have," her voice faltered, "-even if they're spells," she whispered.

"Another plague," Strago felt weak in the knees and quickly sat down. The air seemed thicker than normal, breathing was so much more difficult. "And we don't even have a cure for the first."

"That's why I haven't had the time to help you, because I can see the big picture. In fact, it's all I see. Everyday, I wake up and I remember what Anson told me. He was prophetic and had a keen sense of the challenges we would face. There are dark things out there, shadows that threaten life itself. The Maverick and his fanatics have set loose this Plague, but it's just the tip of their sword. They haven't unsheathed it fully and I don't know if they're ready to, but I won't devote my time to fighting just the first phase."

Strago understood. They had to find something generic but powerful -- a spell designed to fight any malady like the Plague. Anything less and the next iteration could wipe them out.

"If you need my help..." Strago offered.

"No, because I still hope you'll succeed. Your work is easier than mine, and we need it to give people hope for the future. That's why I've decided to assign Catherine to you."

"Your warrior mage? She's not exactly the thinking type."

"No, but she sees things in a different light," Terra explained. "It's all we have left, hopefully you'll succeed."

"Hopefully we'll both succeed," Strago corrected.

"It'll take time."

To forge a new spell? "It always does," Strago replied. He wasn't sure if it was even possible, history on the War of the Magi rarely referred to such details and instead focused on bravery and heroic deeds. With the Sealed Gate destroyed and the link to the Esper Realm lost, they could not seek the help of Espers and learn spells from creatures for whom magic was instinct. They had to rely on their own abilities...

Strago watched the grey-haired half-Esper, the only being alive who was still attuned to the fabric of magic. Terra seemed invigorated by their conversation. An ambitious look was on her face, one that gave Strago hope.

But if Terra could not forge a new healing spell, then the next plague would come. And perhaps they might find a cure for that, but then another one would come... and again and again. They would always be one step behind until at the very end, when there were no more left alive to fight.

Their future laid in the hands of Terra Branford.

---

Strago was not one to leave his fate in the hands of others though. He rested in the Marble Square, wishing that the Empire had bothered to repair the center of the Imperial Palace. Admittedly, it was probably a waste of resources. The Empire did not entertain foreign guests during a war and citizens were refused entrance. Only those who lived in and protected the palace would see the aftermath of magical battle.

There had been trees once, but they were cut down now. Even the stumps were blackened through, drained of life by sorcery. Rings of barren soil ringed the phantoms of proud oaks, not even the slightest hint of colour remained to delight the eye. Marble was cracked or broken, smudged by dirt and shrivelled by fires. Melted metal were frozen upon the walls, forever dripping from the decorative gold bands they once formed.

Strago frowned. This was too depressing a place to wait.

But wait he did, until wide-shoulders guards with rings of black leather approached him. Catherine was at her physical peak; shapely, rock-hard muscles peaked out from beneath the segmented armor. Strago had confused the warrior mage as a man more than once, her face was covered with battle-scars and her head was shaved bald. Her feminine charms were hidden beneath layers of leather, cloth and muscle.

"Lore-master. My Sophis has assigned me to your service," her voice was feminine in pitch, but her inflection was more like a man's.

"Call me Strago," he rose from his seat and they shook hands.

"As you wish."

"I hope you're up to date with the research," Strago said as the two began to walk towards the laboratories beneath the palace. "I don't have time to explain everything."

Two Imperial Guardsmen broke their statuesque forms and trailed the pair. Strago had been assigned bodyguards by Terra despite his objections. He did not need to be protected, least of all by illiterate mindless brutes. However, Terra had been insistent and he preferred her mind clear of everything save the Plague.

"I read all reports available up until yesterday's," Catherine announced. "Your research directly follows the scientific method, so it wasn't difficult to understand the underlying ideas. You still believe in advancing a potent counter-poison, correct?"

"That's one idea," Strago answered. "Unfortunately, none of the improvements have had any effect. Even alleviating the pain has been beyond us, the magical element is what we can't grasp."

Catherine pursed her lips. "There was no mention of this in the reports."

"That's because there's no evidence supporting it."

"Then it's a poor theory."

Strago rolled his eyes. "The Empire's schools are too strict. I swear your education chokes your ability to think! Don't you people value the experience and intuition of your elders?"

"Your many years indicate our failures are due to magic in the Plague?"

He nodded. "It's a gut feeling."

"Then we should try experiments in that direction."

Considering the abrupt change of heart, Strago expected mockery on the warrior mage's face. Instead, Catherine was perfectly serious, which thoroughly confused Strago. "Didn't you just say that without evidence, my theory is worthless?"

"Correct. But if you believe in it, then perhaps there is some merit."

Strago scoffed. "Now you're just humouring an old man."

"I am not," Catherine stated flatly. "I believe there are things we cannot understand, Strago. I believe that gut feelings are more than just that. I have magic," an icy flame burst in her upturned palm. It started to suck the warmth out of the air, glowing a bright whitish-blue as it devoured the heat of summer. "I didn't learn this through repetition, I just follow my instincts."

"Funny, I do the opposite," Strago grinned. "I believe that's the definition of irony."

"But you understand what I'm saying," Catherine let the flame flicker out and die. "I've seen the way you look at the Sophis. You believe in her, just like I do."

Strago twitched ever so slightly hearing Terra's appellation. He suppressed his revulsion. "I value her instincts, if that's what you mean."

"You have faith in her decisions," Catherine stressed. "I do so as well, and I don't need hard evidence to tell me what I already know."

"Now hold on," Strago held up a hand. "Terra is half-Esper. She is literally part of magic itself. I mean, she's sensitive to the metaphysical in ways we could never understand. That's why I value her judgement in these matters, not because of faith."

"Then I value your opinion for the same reason," Catherine answered.

Strago lost a step. "What do you mean by that?"

"Are you not a descendent of the Mage Warriors? Were you not born with magic?"

"I am," was his slow response.

"Then you are also connected in ways I could never be," Catherine pointed out. "As much as I wish I was born with magic, I was not. You are special, Strago."

"I don't feel that way."

"I've protected the Sophis for many months now, and I am certain she does not think herself different from us. Her humility is noble, but the truth remains."

Strago was surprised by the woman. He had never thought someone who devoted so much time towards maintaining her physical shape -- to train daily for battle -- could be so insightful. "I think I misjudged you, Catherine. That was very perceptive of you."

If she was encouraged by his compliment, she didn't show it.

"Well then, do you want to hear the mad ravings of an old man?"

It was at that moment that five men strolled past them, their cloaks swishing against the ground as they waltzed through the center of the corridor as if they owned the entire palace. Both Strago and Catherine pressed up against the wall and let them pass. Their octagonal badges were easily visible even from a distance: the Inquisition. As the metaphorical arm of the Empress, their unlimited authority and explosive temperament made them feared by many.

Strago shook his head disapprovingly at the backs of the Inquisitors. Even if they were hunting down the Shrouded, their ways were disgusting.

"I prefer not to hear it," Catherine was unshaken, instead continuing the conversation as if it had never been interrupted. "But the labs are far away so I'll entertain your ranting."

Strago smiled at the level of self-confidence radiating from the warrior mage. "Well then," he began, feeling more confident just by being near her. "I believe we need to weaken the Plague's magical components with a fighting spell of our own. Then we let an antidote finish both weakened combatants. The only problem is that we need a sample of the original or else we risk killing the patient outright."

They turned the corner and followed a series of five gold and silver threaded arches. They were spaced part, each supported by marble columns that were engraved with images of historic battles of the Empire. Most of the carvings were damaged -- chipped or gauged by lethal steel.

"Another attacking spell within a diseased body? A dangerous idea... the balance would have to be perfect or else we'd create a monster more horrible than the one we're fighting. We'll definitely need an original sample, but I doubt we'll get any with all things considered," Catherine pointed out.

"Right, so the enemy must have thought that the initial stages of the Plague were its weakest point. I think that's the key: we need the weaponized form of the epidemic."

"We have failed to capture any of the Guild alive."

Strago sighed. He felt depressed again. "I suppose even if we did, it would take another week before we could get our hands on a sample. It's too bad none of our spells have ever interacted with the Plague. If we found even some magic that had an effect, maybe we could use that to fight the pathogen."

"Spells do not heal the wounds caused by the Plague?"

"You're not a healer, are you?"

"I could never could grasp the concept."

"No wonder," Strago humphed. "We ordered all the healers to treat the illness, but little can be done. We haven't even succeeded in comforting the dying; absolutely nothing we cast has an effect."

Catherine stopped in mid-step below an archway. "You mean the spells succeed, but it's as if nothing is there to heal?"

"Yeah," Strago failed miserably to keep away the image of a diseased girl he had just met. She had been covered in lesions, her lungs filling with fluid... twelve years of age with not another week to live. "We're fighting an atrocious monster," he whispered.

Catherine glanced around them. Aside from Strago's silent bodyguards, no one else was near. "We had the same problem a while ago," her voice lowered. "All manners of scanning, healing... nothing worked."

"Same problem?" Strago echoed.

"When trying to find Remiel Lilienthal's killer."

"Who?"

Catherine frowned. She quickly explained who Remiel Lilienthal was, describing the Governor, his peculiar condition, and the vicious ambush that led to his death. "We were tasked months ago in finding out why his entire body had seemed completely drained, but never got anywhere. As time passed, the autopsy was officially re-prioritized and we moved to other matters."

"Did the body not rot on you?"

"That was why we were so confused. It didn't seem like it was decaying."

Strago scratched the growing whiskers of a beard on his chin. "Intriguing. Ageless, you say?"

"So I was told."

"Killed by the fanatics?"

"So everyone was told."

There was a glimmer in Strago's eye. "Take me to this body."

---

Blissfully unaware of the Empire's deteriorating conditions and the growing death toll, a dozen Figarian vessels swayed to and fro in cold waters far from their homeland.

"The Lieutenant is nervous."

Arvis lowered his telescope. "Admiral Amedeo," he greeted the thin, wizened officer. The old man seemed starved, though only yesterday Arvis watched Amedeo eat a hearty meal. Considering his voracious appetite and unlimited energy, Arvis could not imagine why the man was so gaunt. Amedeo was almost dwarfed by his own uniform.

"You are a guest upon this ship, but we have officers on deck for a reason. There is no reason for your continual oversight."

Their ship swayed side to side and a salty mist lingered in the air. "I'm just nervous," Arvis explained. He gestured at the wall of fog all around them.

"We are in no danger, even in these foreign waters. Have faith, my Lord."

"I'm no Lord," Arvis protested.

Amedeo scoffed with his back half-turned. "Of course not," he declared.

Arvis shook his head in confusion. Such a strange old man.

"Admiral, UCS reports enemy contact," one of the senior Lieutenants saluted as he climbed the stairs to the quarterdeck. "They're trailing a single vessel. By its size, they're sure it's a ship of the line."

So they were coming, Arvis mused. That was quick.

"How long until they arrive?" whatever might have sapped Amedeo's physical strength did not drain his voice. He was loud, brash, and authoritative.

"UCS judged another five minutes by their wake."

"Lazy fools, remind them that any further delay would make them irrelevant. Letting the enemy come so close is a careless mistake!"

"Aye sir."

Amedeo turned to yet another officer. "Signal the fleet and beat to quarters!" he ordered. "Then I want you to personally handle the cargo. We can't afford anything to be broken; we have no spares."

The man saluted.

"And keep a close eye on the gun crews. Everyone's already nervous and this ship is arriving far too early. It could be a trap, but the last thing I want is an errant sailor spoiling everything."

Arvis glanced landward, looking for the ship that the submersibles had found. Even with his telescope, nothing could be seen through the mist. "I'm glad we have the UCS, otherwise this fog would be the end of us," he noted.

"Their reports are too slow at this range," Amedeo growled. "They make fine scouts further out, but I wouldn't trust that information. One, five or fifteen minutes; it could be anything."

"I'll keep an eye out."

"If you desire so, my Lord. Just don't make my men look bad."

Arvis cut short his sigh. He turned back to the mist.

The minutes passed by slowly, rife with tension. Their ship was the only source of noise, the ocean was quiet today and not a bird was near. Groans came from below their feet as men moved the cargo, but that only lasted a moment before being abruptly silenced. A system of pulleys was set above Arvis, those sailors working professionally without a word.

And then three minutes later, the sailor keeping watch whispered below.

"Sir, sails! East, over there," the young lad pointed.

The mist had allowed the vessel to come much closer than normally possible, but the Figarian fleet was already well-prepared. Amedeo pulled out his own telescope and joined Arvis' search.

"That's definitely Imperial-built -- what an ugly beast," the Admiral growled. "And they've come early, which means either they're feisty or we're in trouble. Lieutenant, open gunports!"

Arvis didn't protest, the response might have been hasty but they were definitely treading dangerous waters here. He scanned the enemy's decks; the sailors were all uniformly Imperial.

"Well, I've done all I've can. Now we pray."

"For what?" Arvis asked as he continued to scan the deck of the approaching vessel.

"That the ship is actually the one we're waiting for. I don't like the idea of dealing with former-Imperials, they're all the same: heartless bastards who can't be trusted."

Arvis sighed. "They did respond to our offer rather quickly."

"Yes, and with a ship of that size. I hope that we didn't approach the wrong Imperials."

"That's unlikely," Arvis tried to soothe the worries of the Admiral, but found himself wondering the exact same.

"All the same," Amedeo turned to his officers. "Hold until my signal. Reassure the men that the situation is under control."

"Is it, sir?" a freckled midshipman asked.

"Anymore of that kind of lip and you'll be swimming home!" Amedeo snapped. "You know better!"

But the officer did have a point, Arvis reluctantly admitted. His telescope scanned the approaching vessel. Her gunports were closed, but it could have been an elaborate trap that they had played into. If Danielle had the slightest suspicion, she would have waylaid their route with her own ships, ordering them to act like-

Arvis opened his mouth in shock as his eye passed a caped sailor. He refocused on that man, recognizing the face from all the posters. "Admiral," he said as he lowered his telescope. "It's the right ship. There's no need for our guns."

"I'll trust your judgement-" Amedeo scowled, "-but I won't trust any Imperial. Bloodthirsty and honourless dogs, that's what they are. I even have the Boatswain and our marines ready in case we're boarded."

"I wouldn't worry about that. They've conceded to all our conditions and more."

"So? Don't ever trust the Empire!"

"They'll do exactly as we say. They're desperate."

"And how do you know that, young man?"

Arvis let the Admiral's attitude slide and instead pointed. "Do you see the man with broad shoulders on their quarterdeck, beside those two with pikes?"

It took but a second for Amedeo to find that figure with his telescope. "The one with the burned cheek and black cape?"

"That's him."

"Their Captain? Very well, he'll have the honour of falling first."

"No Admiral, that's not just any mere captain. It's their General," Arvis gritted his teeth. "It's the Maverick himself, come to do business with us."

Beneath his breath, Arvis muttered:

"Edgar, you better be right about this."


End file.
